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The New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST LADIES’ MAGAZINE. 


The December Number now Ready. 


Tie Most Complete Periodical for Dressmakers in the World, 

AND 

THE MOST POPULAR FASHION MAGAZINE 

For Mothers and Heads of Families. 


THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER CONTAINS A 

MAGNIFICENT CHROMO SUPPLEMENT 

OF 

Meissonier’s Great Painting, 
“Fpiodland; 1807,” 

REPRESENTING 

Napoleon at the Zenith of his Glory at the Battle of Friedland 

FROM THE 

Original Picture now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 
New York, for which $08,000 was paid at the famous 
Stewart Sale. 

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(P. O. Box 3751.) 17 to 27 Vande water St., New York, 


ADELINE SERGEANT'S WORKS 


CONTAINED IN 

NO. 

257 Beyond Recall. 
812 No Saint. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 


NO. 

1 1231 A Life Sentence. 

1 1241 The Luck of the House. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


CHAPTER I. 

ON DECK. 

Clear and bright, with the- crystalline clearness and bright- 
ness of atmosphere peculiar to Scotland, the brilliant summer 
day drew softly to a close. There was no cloud in the solemn 
blue depths overhead, but around the sinking sun a few fleecy 
masses had been turned into crimson and gold, and were re- 
flected in gleaming light and glancing blood-red hues from the 
bosom of the majestic river, as it widened between receding 
banks toward the Northern Sea. A London steamer, making 
its way up the channel to a port on the north-eastern coast, 
whither it was bound, seemed to be plunging into a mystical 
land of glory as it turned its head toward the burning west. 

So it seemed, at least, to a girl who was standing on the 
deck, with her eyes fixed upon the shore, which was half lost 
in a golden haze. 4 4 We seem to have come to a city of gold/’ 
she said, smiling, to a gentleman who stood at her side. 

4 4 Some people have found it so,” he answered, rather 
dryly. 44 A good many fortunes have been lost and won in 
the good old town of Dundee.” 

She moved a little, as if she did not quite like his tone. 

44 1 did not mean that,” she said, in a lowered voice. 

44 1 know you did not,” said John Hannington, with a 
swift look at the sweet, girlish face to which he was almost 
sure that he had lost his heart during the last two days. 44 1 
knew you had some meaning that an unlucky brute like my- 
self is certain to misunderstand. Something too beautiful and 
transcendental for my poor ears. ” 

44 Oh, no, no,” said the girl, deprecatingly. She colored a 
little at his words. 44 My thought was a very foolish one.” 

“Will you not tell me what it was?” said Hannington, 
drawing a little' nearer. 44 Do tell me.” 

She had a very charming face, he thought. She looked 
half frightened at his request, and then a brave, modest ex- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


pression came into her beautiful blue eyes. “ It is not worth 
making a secret of/ ^ she said. “ I only thought — when 1 saw 
the golden light making those hills and buildings look so 
dream-like and unsubstantial — of Bunyan’s ‘ Pilgrim’s Prog- 
ress/ and the Celestial City that the pilgrims saw from afar.” 

In the silent evening air, speech sometimes travels further 
than we know. The girl was quite unconscious that her clear, 
fine utterance had reached the ear of one other person besides 
her immediate auditor. A middle-aged man with a grave, 
keen face, who had been leaning over the bulwarks, with his 
eyes fixed abstractedly on the water, and his head turned 
away from the golden glory of the west, was struck by her 
words. He changed his position a little, so that he could see 
the girl’s fair profile, studied it for a moment or two with a 
look of kindly interest, then rose up and walked away. But 
as he passed the couple he heard John Hannington’s reply. 

An amused laugh came first. Then a half apology. 

“ I laugh from surprise, not from amusement. Miss Rae- 
burn. • The imagination required to convert smoky, whisky- 
loving, jute-manufacturing Dundee into a Celestial City is 
prodigious. Bunyan himself could not have possessed more.” 

“ Ah, you do not understand,” said the girl, smiling herself 
now and shaking her head. “ I had forgotten Dundee alto- 
gether. But you must not abuse it; because it is going to be 
my home. ” 

The gentleman who had passed them was out of hearing by 
this time. 

“ Do you know who that is?” said Hannington, looking 
after him with interest. “ Moncrieff of Torresmuir; one of 
the wealthiest men in Scotland. Some people say, one of the 
most unfortunate. But I’m not among the number.” 

“Why?” 

“Why unfortunate? or why am I not among the people 
who call him so? Well, I’ll answer both questions, Miss 
Raeburn. In the meantime, won’t you sit down?” He 
grasped a small deck-chair by the back-rail, and gently pushed 
it toward her. “ You can look at the sky while you sit just 
as well as if you were standing, you know,” he said, in the 
broad, easy-going way which made John Hannington such a 
favorite with his acquaintance,, while the girl accepted the seat 
with a little nod of thanks and a pleasant smile. “ As to 
Moncrieff — he lost his wife three or four years ago under 
specially sad circumstances; she was thrown out of a pony- 
cart which he was driving, and killed before his eyes. Then, 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


7 


his only son is weakly — in fact, something of an invalid. He 
has a young daughter, I believe, but no other child. ” 

“How very sad!” said Miss Raeburn. Her gentle eyes 
were full of sympathy. “ His wife’s death must have been a 
great loss to him. ” 

“ Conventionally, yes,” answered Mr. Hannington, finger- 
ing his black mustache, with a smile. He found Miss Rae- 
burn’s simplicity adorable, and thanked fate for sending him 
on board the steamer from London to Dundee, where he had 
found her in the charge of a lady with whom he was ac- 
quainted. “In real life, you know, the death of a wife does 
not always leave a man inconsolable. It is rumored that Mr. 
and Mrs. Moncrieff did not get on very well.” 

“ Oh, then, he is even more unfortunate than I thought,” 
said the young girl, quickly. 

“ You think I am very hard-hearted because I do not call 
him so? 1 understand. To a sweet-natured, loving woman, 
it must seem strange — the callous way in which we men of the 
world look at things!” cried John Hannington, with apparent 
impetuosity. He was really very much on his guard. “ To 
a worldly man like myself, Miss Raeburn, it does not seem 
that Mr. Moncrieff is anything but a lucky man. He has a 
fine estate; he has a splendid income and a magnificent house; 
he has — or may have — all the official county distinctions which 
he wants; no career is closed to him; and, although he has 
lost his first wife, whom rumor says that he did not love, he*is 
free and able to marry again, and to marry whom he pleases — 
which many men are not. ” 

A harsh note was audible in his voice. The girl kept 
silent. She was still gazing toward the west, where the light 
was growing faded and dull. It seemed to her, suddenty, that 
if she listened long to Mr. Hannington’s worldly wisdom, life 
also would fade in brightness as surely as that western sky. 
But Hannington knew what he was doing: lie had an effect to 
produce. 

“What am I saying?” he broke out, with an accent of 
sudden self-reproach. “ Inflicting my hard, worldly maxims 
upon you, who are so far above me — so far removed from 
evil — ” 

“Oh, please, Mr. Hannington, do not talk in that way!” 
said the girl, with drooping head and flushing cheeks. And 
yet — Stella Raeburn would not have been a girl of nineteen if 
the flattery were altogether distasteful. Mr. Hannington 
knew that well enough. 

“I must tell you — before we, separate,” he said, in agitated 


8 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


tones, “ that sinee I knew you I have felt a different in- 
fluence. I have felt as though a nobler, higher life were pos- 
sible. I have seen that your standard was higher than mine, 
and have wished — wished bitterly, and 1 feel vainly — that I 
could attain to it!” He stopped short as if emotion impeded 
his utterance; and Stella attempted a few words of depre- 
cation. 

“I am not worth such praise. I can only wish that my 
own standard were higher,” she murmured. 

“ Ah, don’t remove yourself further from me than you are 
now,” he pleaded, ardently. “ Be still yourself — the star of 
my dark night — the guiding star, that points without its own 
knowledge, without its own volition, to the birthplace of all 
that is most sacred, most holy, in the world.” 

She shrunk a little. In her peaceful maidenliness it seemed 
to her as if his reference to the Star of Bethlehem were half 
profane. He felt the momentary recoil. 

“ Forgive me if I say too much. Your very name suggests 
it. Stella, your friends call you, do they not? I never hear 
it without remembering all sorts of poetic fancies, lines that 
poets have written, and fables that have been told about the 
stars. Will you forgive me?” 

“ So long as I have only poetic fancies to forgive — it is not 
much!” "said Stella, lightly. But she rose from her seat as 
she spoke and began k> move about the deck, where several 
other persons were sitting or standing. Hannington knew 
that he had gone far enough. The girl was sensitive, and 
perhaps a little proud, in spite of all her gentleness. He 
hovered near her, as she walked, but he did not speak again 
till she addressed him. But he knew that silence is sometimes 
as effective as speech. 

Meanwhile, Allan Moncrieff of Torresmuir, the tall and 
stately looking man of whom Hannington had spoken, went 
straight to the captain of the vessel with a question. 

“ Who is that young lady with fair hair who sits next but 
one to you at table, captain?” he asked, carelessly. 

The captain was busy, and replied with curtness: “ Oh! 
you mean Miss Raeburn, daughter of Matthew Raeburn, of 
Dundee: Raeburn & Millar: jute.” 

“Jute, of course,” said Mr. Moncrieff, dryly. He recol- 
lected the names of Raeburn & Millar. They had one yf the 
largest jute mills in the town, and were reputed to be wealthy 
men. What a delicate, flower-like face Miss Raeburn had! 
He had noticed it several times since he came on board, but 
had not hitherto thought of asking any one its owner’s mime. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


9 


A sweet, delicate face; but strong too, with a kind of square- 
ness about the white chin, and considerable breadth of fore- 
head. The pretty lips, moreover, closed tirmlv, and the beau- 
tiful blue eyes were serious rather than gay. There was 
character as well as beauty in Stella Raeburn’s face. 

“ 1 suppose,” said Moncrieff to himself, 44 that she will live 
and die, be married and buried, in Dundee. ” He himself 
had a strong dislike to the great manufacturing town, a dislike 
extending, possibly, to the manufacturers. “With that sweet 
face, she deserves a better fate than one of uninterrupted, com- 
monplace, middle- class prosperity. Yet, what safer and hap- 
pier fate could I wish for her, poor girl!” 

He had no suspicion that he himself was destined to be one 
of the determining factors in Stella Raeburn’s fate. There 
seemed at present no point at which her life was likely to 
touch his own. He was to stay a night only in Dundee; he 
had come thither on business, and it might be months before 
he came again. He and his family mixed little in Society, 
save of the exclusively aristocratic kind. He was not at all 
likely to encounter the Raeburns among his friends, and his 
house was nearly two hours’ journey from Dundee. 

He thought of her as one might think of a lovely picture 
hanging on the wall of a gallery, or over the altar in a foreign 
church: with admiration, with delight, but with no wish to 
possess it, and no especial desire to analyze the charm that it 
held for all comers as well as for himself. He forgot her in 
five minutes. Why should he think of a manufacturer's 
daughter whom he had seen, but never spoken to, on board a 
steamer bound for Dundee? 


CHAPTER IT. 

THORH BAHK. 

The golden glow was still resplendent in the west, but the 
light of day was gradually fading, and here and there lamps 
twinkled on the rising banks of the river. 

44 We shall land very soon,” said Stella to her companion, 
as thejrwalked up and down the deck, stopping now and then 
to look at the men piling cargo and luggage in readiness for 
disembarkation, or at the vessels that passed them by. 

44 Very soon,” said Hannington. 44 Don’t you think the 
town is rather picturesque, approached in this way? People 
say it it is like Naples, you know: the houses clustering down 
to the water’s edge, and the conical hill behind, to represent 
Vesuvius.” 


10 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Stella laughed. “ Has Naples those tall factory chim- 
neys?’ ^ she asked. 

44 Ah, the factory chimneys. After all, they are important 
parts of the landscape; they give out the smoke that hangs in 
a haze over the town like the cloud from Vesuvius itself. Miss 
Raeburn,” said John Hannington, in a suddenly differing 
tone, 44 may I ask what your arrangements are? Do you ex- 
pect any one to meet you?” 

44 Oh, yes, I expect my father,” said the girl, with a thrill 
of happy feeling in her voice. 44 He is sure to come. I have 
not seen him for four years.” 

44 Yon have been abroad, 1 think you said the other day.” 

44 I have been at school in Brussels. In the holidays I 
traveled about with Madame Beauvais and the other girls. 
We went to Switzerland one summer, to Germany another, 
and to Paris. Then in winter, to Italy — Florence, Venice, 
Rome. Oh!” — with a pretty smile — 4 4 1 have seen a great 
deal of the world.” 

Hannington smiled too. But he was not going to pursue 
the subject of her travels. 

44 And now you are to settle down in Dundee. Your father’s 
house is at the west end of the town, I believe? You will be 
out of the smoke there.” 

44 Yes, I suppose so. 1 have not seen it. Papa removed to 
Thornbank when I was away. We had a dear, gloomy old 
house in the Nethergate before.” 

44 And you will be mistress and queen of Thornbank, 1 sup- 
pose?” said Mr. Hannington, pensively. 

Stella blushed a little. 44 My aunt fives there. I think she 
is queen of the house. Dear Aunt Jacky! I have not seen 
her either since I was sixteen.” 

“ Y r ou will allow me, perhaps,” said her companion, in a 
very formal tone r 44 to call and inquire how you have borne 
the fatigue of your long journey from Brussels, and to make 
acquaintance with Miss — Miss Raeburn?” 

44 Miss Raeburn? Miss Jacquetta Raeburn!” said Stella, 
merrily. 44 You must remember that she is not Miss Rae- 
burn; she is Miss Jacquetta; she is very particular about the 
'title. I am sure she will be exceedingly pleased to see you.” 

44 And } r ou,” said Hannington, dropping his voice almost to 
a whisper, 44 will you be pleased to see me too, Stella?” 

She started and moved a step or two away from him. They 
had been standing still for the last few minutes. The man 
followed her closely. He was not going to let her escape. 

44 Forgive me if 1 have gone too far,” he said. 44 But will 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


11 


you not give me one word of comfort? Will you not say that 
you will be glad to see me boo?” 

There was so much noise about them, so much talking, so 
much shouting of orders, dragging of chains, bumping of 
bales and boxes, creaking of machinery, that he had to ap- 
proach her very closely to hear the faintly murmured 4 4 Yes ” 
that fell from Stella’s lips. Her slim, ungloved hand hung at 
her side. It was easy in the gathering twilight to take it un- 
observed in his own, and to hold it for a minute or two in a 
very tender clasp. To Stella’s simple soul, the action seemed 
like a ceremony of betrothal. 

Was she very quickly won? She had known John Han- 
nington for less than six-and-thirty hours. She had come on 
board the “ Britannia ” with her friend, Mrs. Muir, on Wed- 
nesday morning at ten o’clock, and it was now Thursday 
night. Mr. Hannington and Mrs. Muir were old acquaint- 
ances, it appeared, and he had at once attached himself to 
them — or perhaps it should be said that Mrs. Muir had at 
once retained him in her service. Ever since that Wednesday 
morning he had been in their company at every possible mo- 
ment. And the days at sea are very long! Two whole morn- 
ings^ afternoons, evenings, had John Hannington sat at Stella 
Raeburn’s side, walked with her on deck, whispered soft 
sentences into her ears under the shade of the same great 
white umbrella; in fact, as Mrs. Muir noted with delight, he 
had deliberately laid himself out to attract the sweet-faced, 
serious-eyed Stella, and apparently he had succeeded. 

Stella did not know the meaning of the word flirtation. 
Her refinement, her thoughtfulness, lifted her out of the region 
where flirtation or foolishness existed. She did not even know 
that Mr. Hannington was paying her more attention than was 
usual on so short an acquaintance. Others watched, and 
wondered and commented, but Stella was ignorant. She only 
thought vaguely that Mr. Hannington was “ very kind,” and 
hoped that he would call at Thornbank before he left Dundee. 

Of course Mr. Hannington did not live at Dundee. A com- 
mercial, ship-building, jute- weaving town had no attraction 
for him as a place of residence. He was a London man, a 
man about town, a man with a small private fortune (recently 
impaired by gaming losses), and a reputation that was not 
quite flawless. He was not “ a bad man ” in the ordinary 
sense of the word. He was by no means a villain. But he 
was selfish, callous, worldly, as he had called himself (and as 
Stella did not believe him); he was still capable, at need, of 
doing a generous thing, but he had a keen eye for the main 


12 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


chance. He was clever, and, in some people's opinion, hand- 
some, in a dark, hard style, which other people particularly 
disliked; but by young men and young women, who are not 
generally keen physiognomists, he was admired. Stella Rae- 
burn admired him very much, though he shocked her now and 
then by his flippant manner of speech. 

He had friends at a great house in the neighborhood of 
Dundee: Lord Esquhart's second son, Donald Vereker, was 
his particular “ pal," as he explained to Miss Raeburn, and 
he had been invited to spend a yveek or two at the Towers for 
some shooting. The Raeburns were naturally not in the 
Towers “ set," but Hannington was nevertheless determined 
to pursue his acquaintance with the manufacturer's daughter. 
Stella Raeburn would have money, and Hannington considered 
himself poor. 

So he held her hand, and she stood silent, with downcast 
eyes, not drawing her fingers away. Hannington felt them 
quiver in his hand like a soft, live bird. At this movement, 
he himself had a moment of tender feeling; it was not very 
lasting, but while it lasted it was real. He thought to himself 
that she was a dear little girl, and that he should be very fond 
of her. He rejected the imjDutation cast on him by his con- 
science of being a fortune-hunter, with disdain. Ho; he was 
in love with Stella. 

Presently the steamer lay alongside the wharf, and through 
the gathering darkness and the flickering, changing lights 
Stella watched anxiously for the coming of her father. Mr. 
Hannington watched too, fingering his black mustache, and 
musing on the subject of dowries and fortunes made in jute. 
He wanted to see Mr. Raeburn before committing himself 
further. Stella's friend and chaperon, Mrs. Muir, came up 
from the saloon with many exclamations of relief at the con- 
clusion of her voyage. She was the wife of a clergyman in 
Dundee, and an English woman. 

“ Of course the weather has been lovely, and the boat is 
very comfortable," she said; “ but you can't settle down to 
anything in two days, and there seems so little to do. Con- 
fess, now, Stella darling, haven't you found it a tiny bit dull?" 

Stella blushed beautifully, as she answered with a sincerity 
that John Hannington thought very sweet, that she had not 
been at all dull — not in the very least. 

“ Well, I’m very glad of it," said Mrs. Muir, glancing at 
Mr. Hannington, “ for I am sure I have not seen much of 
you; I never feel well enough at sea to walk about and enjoy 
myself like other people. I come this way, you know " — 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


13 


sinking her voice a little — 44 because it's cheaper. Stella, 
there's your dear papa. Don't you see his head in the crowd 
over there by the gangway?" 

Stella did see, and made an impulsive movement forward, 
which had to be restrained by the talkative Mrs. Muir. 

44 My dear child, you had better stay where you are. He 
can find you more easily; see, he is making his way toward 
us. " And, as she spoke, a tall man, with shoulders slightly 
bent, and a fringe of white hair about his face, made his way 
toward the little group. Stella could be kept back no longer; 
she sped to her father like an arrow from a bow. Her face 
seemed transfigured by happiness. 

44 What a sweet girl she is!" Mrs. Muir exclaimed. Then 
she drew a long breath. 44 Ah! he has kissed her. Iam 
glad of that. I was half afraid that he wouldn't!" 

44 Not kiss his daughter?" said Mr. Hannington, with an 
uncomprehending accent. 

Mrs. Muir nodded at him. 44 The Scotch are much more 
reserved in public than the English, Mr. Hannington; and 
poor dear Stella has lived abroad four years among people who 
are more demonstrative than the English. I was half afraid 
that her father would seem cold to her, although I know that 
he loves her dearly. " 

44 He ought to love her," said Hannington, with emphasis. 

Mrs. Muir favored him with a keen look. 44 You think so 
too, do you?" she said. 44 1 quite agree with you; but we are 
impulsive people — English, you know." 

44 1 am not an impulsive person." 

44 Well, perhaps not. And if you are not, you may like to 
hear that Miss Stella is not likely to be absolutely portionless 
by and by. She will bring a very handsome tocher, as my 
husband would say, to the man she marries." 

Hannington made no reply. If he had been ignorant of the 
fact stated, he might have felt grateful to Mrs. Muir for her 
information; but as he knew it already, he was a little inclined 
to resent what he called her 44 fussy interference." He waited 
silently until Stella and her father approached them. Mr. 
Raeburn spoke to Mrs. Muir, thanking her for the care of his 
daughter, and then Mr. Hannington's introduction took place. 
The manufacturer gave the young man a pleasant greeting, 
and stood for a few minutes on deck talking to him; while 
Stella, with her hand in her father's arm, and a slight, un- 
conscious smile on her sweet face, listened to the conversation, 
and shyly thought that she had never seen any one so hand- 
some and distinguished-looking as Mr. John Hannington. 


14 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


The young man was not disagreeably impressed by Mr. 
Raeburn's manner. It was a little stiff and old-fashioned, 
but not out of keeping with his highly respectable appearance. 
The father's eyes were like his daughter's, though with more 
anxiety and less gentleness in their expression. The lines of 
his pale face were rather deeply traced; his high wrinkled 
forehead and hollow cheek showed signs of ill-health as well 
as care and thought. He looked like a man who had great 
resnonsibilities on his shoulders, and whose life was never free 
from trouble of one sort or another. He spoke in dry, gentle 
tones, hesitating now and then for a word, with a slight 
Scotch accent, which even Hannington, in his London-bred 
fastidiousness, found characteristic and picturesque. 

“ We will be glad to see you, sir, if you should find your 
way to Thornbank," Mr. Raeburn said courteously to the 
younger man. “Any friend of my daughter — or of Mrs. 
Muir either — will aye be welcome. You'll come and take 
your dinner with us one day, may be, if you are to stay long 
in Dundee, and have the time to spare." 

“1 shall be delighted to come," Hannington answered, 
quickly. “ Any day that suits you, sir — or that Miss Rae- 
burn likes to fix. You will allow me the pleasure of calling 
to-morrow — to inquire after Miss Raeburn —and then, per- 
haps — " 

“ Any day," said Mr. Raeburn, “ just any time you please, 
you will be welcome." He gave a stiff little nod, as if to show 
that the conversation was at an end. “ We must be moving 
off, I should think, Stella, my dear. The carnage is here to 
meet us, and your aunt has got a fine tea ready for you at the 
other end." 

Stella, with her hand resting on her father's arm, gave a 
gentle little smile to Hannington. There was something of 
regret mingling with the joy of her return home. Was she 
sorry to part with him already? 

Mrs. Muir's leave-takings were of the effusive kind. 

“ Good-bye, sweet star of hope," she said, as she kissed 
Stella. “ I shall soon come to see if you are still shining at 
Thornbank as you have shone on board. She has been the 
center of attraction, Mr. Raeburn, and I am sure we are all 
sorry to part from her." 

“ I'm obliged to you for your kindness," said Mr. Raeburn, 
a little more stiffly than usual. “ Good-night to you, Mrs. 
Muir. Come, Stella, say good-bye to your friends." Stella 
took her hand from his arm, and gave it first to Mrs. Muir, 
and then to Mr. Hannington. He held it in his own for a 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


15 


moment longer than is usual under such circumstances; and 
then, as her father’s back was turned, and the lights around 
them were but dim, he bowed his head over it and raised it to 
his lips. 

Stella drew it away, coloring violently, and as she did so 
her eyes met those of a gentleman who must have been a 
spectator of the scene. It was 44 Moncrieff of Torresmuir,” 
as Hannington had named him to her; and the keen, cold 
face was set in lines of a gravity that was almost stern. Stella 
felt as if he had condemned her for this act of John Hanning- 
ton, and she was conscious of an emotion of shame and dis- 
tress, quickly succeeded by something very like resentment. 
What right had this stranger to look at her with those critical 
eyes? Stella’s nature was very gentle, but she was not with- 
out her share of pride, which was a little wounded by his gaze. 
It was not until afterward that she was fully aware of the 
mingled pain and pleasure which the touch of Hannington ’s 
lips on her little ungloved hand had brought to her. 

Meanwhile her flush and gesture of avoidance convinced 
Hannington that he had offended her, and when he came to 
the carriage-door and handed her to her seat, he put on a look 
of the deepest concern and contrition, with which upon his 
face he said good-bye. Stella sunk back on the soft cushions 
of the carriage when he had gone, with the feeling that she 
was in a new and exciting world. For a moment she forgot 
even her father. 

44 Yon’s a rather officious young fellow, I’m thinking,” said 
Mr. Raeburn, dryly. 

His daughter sat up, and jDassed her hand over her eyes. 
44 He has been very kind to me, papa?” she said, softly. 

44 Very kind? Well, I’m glad to hear it. Who is he? A 
friend of Mrs. Muir?” 

44 Yes, papa. He is going to Esquhart Towers to-night, to 
stay at the earl’s. He is a great friend of Mr. Vereker. ” 

44 Eo credit to him,” said Mr. Raeburn. 44 Every one 
knows that Donald Vereker will take up with the first comer, 
whoever he may be. Do you know anything more of him?” 

44 Only that he is a friend of Mrs. Muir.” 

44 Ah — well. I dare say we shall see no more of him. 
When he gets among his fine friends at the Towers he won’t 
think of us again. ” 

Stella was silent; but a little smile crept to the corners of 
her mouth. What did Mr. Hannington care for his fine 
friends, she said to herself, in comparison with her? He would 
certainly come, certainly; he had said so; and then her father 


16 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


would see how mistaken he had been in his estimate of this 
young man — who was not as other young men. But she said 
nothing, and Mr. Raeburn presently began to ask her short, 
dry questions about her journey and her life abroad, and this 
sort of conversation lasted until the carriage swept round the 
curve of a graveled drive which led from the road to the door 
of Mr. Raeburn's new residence — Thornbank. 

Stella had not heard much of the house, for neither her 
father nor her aunt were good letter -writers; but she had gath- 
ered from their remarks that it was a fine big place, and that 
it had been “newly furnished." Still, she was hardly pre- 
pared for the solid magnificence of the mansion into which her 
father now conducted her: the broad stone steps, the spacious 
hall lined with marble figures and exotic plants, the big pict- 
ures and flaming chandeliers of the room in which her aunt 
met her, struck her with astonishment, but not altogether 
with admiration. She had seen too much of really good art 
and fine architecture in her travels to be anything but critical; 
and, in spite of her wish to like everything in her father's 
house, she felt oppressed by the blaze of light and the glaring 
colors of the furniture. It seemed incongruous, too, to see 
her aunt's old-fashioned little figure hurrying toward her be- 
tween velvet hangings and ormolu stands and all this strange 
new paraphernalia of wealth. Only when Miss Jacky had 
taken the slim young figure in her arms, and was kissing the 
girl's fresh cheek with a sort of rapturous delight, did Stella 
feel that she was really at home, in spite of the cold and be- 
wildering splendor of the house. 

Miss Jacquetta Raeburn was a very little woman. Her head 
did not reach Stella's shoulder, as Stella was rather surprised 
to find — for the girl had grown during her four years’ absence 
from home — but what she lacked in stature she made up for 
in dignity of a vivacious and energetic kind. She was by no 
means an insignificant-looking person, for all her shortness of 
figure. She was dressed in a black brocade of very ancient 
make, but stiff and rich-looking; over it, however, she had 
tied a blue bib and apron, with rather an odd effect. On her 
head was perched a very high cap, adorned with many spikes 
of green grass, upright feathers, artificial flowers and iridescent 
beads, sucji an erection as had never been seen on the head 
of mortal woman before, and was the pride of Miss Jacquetta's 
heart. 

“ Eh, my bonny woman!" she cried, with a little shriek of 
delight, “ and it's you that are back again, after all this weary 
while. And me and your papa have just been wearying for a 


THE- LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 17 

sight of you! And you must be quite done out with your jour- 
ney, I should think, and will want your tea sadly !” 

“ No, Aunt Jacky, 1 don’t know that 1 do,” said Stella, 
laughing a little, and stooping to kiss the delicate, wrinkled 
face. “ But when 1 sit down I dare say I shall find an ap- 
petite.” 

“ I'm sure I hope so, my dear. I've been trying all day to 
mind what you used to like, and I think you'll find something 
to your taste. Now come away upstairs and lay by your bon- 
net. What a deal there is to show you and tell you about, to 
be sure! Did you ever see such a fine house as this, Stella? 
And your own little room — well, just come away with me, 
and I'll show you what your papa's done for you.” 

She led the girl hurriedly across the hall and up the broad, 
well-carpeted, illuminated staircase, refusing the attentions of 
one or two of the servants who stepped forward to offer assist- 
ance on the way. 44 Not now, John; just you go down-stairs 
again, Mary; I will show the young mistress to her own cham- 
ber myself, if you please. You'd never believe the thought 
your papa has taken to have everything just so before you 
came home, my dear. But it's not me that would deny him 
his way, as you know, and every one of us in the house is as 
glad to see you as himself. And now, look here.” 

Miss Jacky had preceded Stella for the last few minutes, 
and now threw open the door of a room, in which she evident-' 
!y took great pride. And indeed it was a charming little nest. 
White and pink were the colors that predominated; the mir- 
rors were framed in silver, the toilet requisites were in ivory 
and silver; the silken bed-quilt and curtains were edged with 
delicate lace. A white rug lay before the fender, and a small 
but cheery wood fire burned in the grate. Evidently good 
taste had presided over the choice of every article, and Stella 
was the more gratified and surprised because the rest of the 
house, with all its gorgeousness, had not pleased her very 
much. 

4 ‘ There's a parlor opening out of it,” added Miss Jacky, 
with infinite delight, 44 so that you can just slip away up here 
when you're tired of us old folk, Stella, my dear. And I hope 
it'll be to your fancy. ” 

44 It is lovely — it is charming!” cried the girl, with a bright 
flush of color on her delicate face. 44 1 never saw a room half 
so pretty! How good of papa to get it all done so beauti- 
fully. ” 

44 He did not hold his hand, certainly,” said Miss Jacky. 
84 He had people froni London to see about this room; the folk 


18 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


here weren’t good enough for him, though they did the rest of 
the house. I’m just hoping that you’ll tell your papa, Stella, 
that you are pleased, for he’s made a sight of work about this 
place, 1 can tell you, and it was easy to see that you didna 
care so much about the public rooms below as he would have 
liked you to do.” 

“ Oh, dear Aunt Jacky,” said Stella, a little stung by the 
implied rebuke, 44 I never, never said a word. I only thought 
they looked — very — grand.” 

“ They’re not much to my taste,” said Aunt Jacky, grim- 
ly. “ A deal too much gilding and velvet about them for me. 
But your papa likes them; and surely 1 think he’s gone clean 
daft over this house and its furniture. He’s for throwing 
good money right and left as if it were but dirt. And it’s 
4 Would the child like this?’ or 4 Would she have the other?’ 
till I’ve been fair dazed at the sound of your name. Not but 
what it’s a sight for sair een to see you standing there, my 
bonny lassie. ” 

Stella was slowly pulling off her gloves and laying her hat 
upon the bed. She did not speak for a minute or two. 

“It’s very beautiful, it’s all very grand,” she said. 44 1 
will certainly tell dear papa how grateful I am to him for this 
dear little room.” Then, after another pause, she said, with 
a rather puzzled look, and in a hesitating voice: 44 In papa’s 
letters to me, he kept saying that he was so poor. I — I did 
not expect anything like this.” 

44 It doesn’t look as if he were poor, does it, my bairn? A 
year or two ago he was anxious enough, I know. And then 
his sadness of heart seemed to leave him all at once, and he 
began to talk of this new house, and since then he’s spent just 
an awful deal of money — so it will have been only a passing- 
cloud, you see.” But, in spite of these cheerful assurances. 
Miss Jacky’s face wore a cloud of anxiety and almost of fear, 
which Stella was quic^f to interpret. 

44 Don’t you think he is well, then. Aunt Jacky?” she 
asked. 

44 He says that he’s well, my lamb,” said Aunt Jacky, 
44 and she would be a bold woman that would contradict him. 
And so far, that’s a good sign. For it’s only when a man’s 
near death that he lets himself be contradicted without flying 
into a rage.” 


THE .LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


19 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FIRST DAY. 

Stella’s vague dissatisfaction with the state of affairs in 
the new home, which she had scarcely yet learned to call her 
own, did not survive a glimpse of the sunlight which greeted 
her next morning in her lovely little room. She lay awake 
for a few minutes watching the beams which wandered 
through the Venetian blinds, and rested here and there upon 
the pretty things which, as she fondly remembered, her father 
himself had bought for her; and then, with a sudden wish to 
see what lay outside the house, she got up and pulled aside the 
blinds. Her room was situated at an augle of the house, and 
she had windows on two sides. From one she looked out upon 
a garden which sloped down a gentle descent, at the foot of 
which — broad and glorious — rolled the great River Tay, its 
bosom brilliant in the morning light. Stella looked across to 
the Newport side and thought of some of her old friends who 
lived there; then she glanced at the great curve of the wonder- 
ful Tay Bridge, and uttered a little' smothered cry at the sight 
of that yawning gap which had not then been tilled up. The 
great Tay Bridge disaster had occurred * when Stella was at 
school, and she had not seen even a photograph of the river 
since the bridge went down. It gave her — as it has given to 
many people when they beheld it in its ruin — a sudden awe- 
stricken sense of tragedy; it seemed to her as if the broken- 
down arches and solitary piers must always induce strange 
recollections of the sadness and mystery of life whenever they 
met the eye. She was not old enough to know how easily the 
mind of man recoils from contemplation of disaster; and she 
would have been surprised indeed had she been told that in a 
very short time she would be far too much absorbed in the con- 
duct of her own affairs to think (as she did at first), every time 
she glanced at the bridge, of the stormy night, the roaring 
wind, the rush of a train over the rocking arches, and the 
sudden plunge into the dark water below. She stood at the 
window and thought very seriously that she would take the 
sight of the broken bridge for a warning to herself; and that 
whenever she was overconfident or impatient, or inclined to 
grumble, she would remember how easily all earthly happiness 
might fall to pieces beneath the hand of One mightier than 
herself — the hand of God. 

“ I do not think that I shall ever be discontented when I 


20 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


look at that bridge,” she said, as she glanced at the glittering 
expanse of water, the cloudless sky, the pale, purple hills that 
seemed to die away in mist on the other side of the water. 
“ I shall remember how easily it might have happened that 
my dear father or some of my friends had been in that train, 
and that I might have been made an orphan! There are 
many other ways, too, in which one's happiness may be 
wrecked. There must be trouble in store for every one; and 
I have had so little hitherto that 1 suppose it is all to come! — 
God grant that I may bear it patiently! At the beginning of 
this new life of mine — for everything seems new to me here — 
I will ask Him to bless it and to bless me; so that 1 may be a 
blessing and a help to others, and may not live for myself 
alone!” 

And thus reflecting, she slipped down on her knees beside 
the window and uttered a few words of fervent prayer, that 
she might be guided and guarded in the home-life upon whidh 
she had now entered. There could not have been a better 
preparation for the chances and changes of Stella Raeburn's 
life. 

She dressed and went down-stairs. She had time for a lit- 
tle ramble in the garden before her aunt and her father made 
their appearance, and she came in eloquent about the sweet, 
fresh air, the beauty of the view', and the size of the garden. 
Her father listened with dawning pleasure in his weary eyes. 

“ So you weren't sorry to come back to old Scotland after 
all?” he said, as he finished his saucer of porridge, and pulled 
toward him the cup of tea that Miss Jacky had poured out. 

“ Papa! How could I be sorry when I love it with all my 
heart? You have no idea how I used to long to hear a Scot- 
tish tongue! I thought I should die of home-sickness for the 
first year that 1 was away.” 

“ Ye didn't mention that in your letters,” said Miss Jacky. 

“ Oh! no, because 1 knew that it would have been foolish 
when papa wanted me to learn as much as I could, and not to 
come home until I had done with school. But it is delightful 
to feel one's self in one's own country.” 

“ 1 am glad to hear you say so,” said her father. “ I was 
half afraid you'd come back half a foreigner, and not a sensi- 
ble Scotch lassie after all. You've not forgotten how to sup 
your porridge, any way.” 

“ 1 should think not!” said Stella, brightly. “I enjoy it 
more than anything — especially with this beautiful cream. I 
think I shall enjoy everything in Scotland.” 

“ Well, make the most of your enjoyment,” said Mr. Rae- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


21 


burn, speaking a little dryly as he rose from his chair. 44 It's 
as well, may be, that you can find your pleasure in such little 
things; there's no knowing how long you may have bigger 
ones to enjoy. " 

He went out of the room rather quickly, and Stella, laying 
down her spoon, looked with a puzzled face toward her aunt 
for explanation. 44 He did not seem quite pleased," she said. 
44 Did 1 say anything that he did not like, auntie?" 

4 4 Nothing that he need mislike, my bairn. It's just this; 
he's got a notion that we don't appreciate all that he's done 
for us in building this fine house up at the West End — which, 
in my opinion, is just ridiculous; and he seems whiles to wish 
that we should not like anything but what's cost money; so 
that though he himself still sups the porridge and likes them 
as well as ever, he'd have been better pleased, my dear, if 
ye’d turned up your nose at it and asked for some patty de 
foy grasse, or whatever they call it, or some of that fine raised 
pie with truffles and spices and what not. It's just the nature 
of the man, that's all." 

44 1 see; 1 will try to please him," said Stella, with rather a 
troubled laugh. 44 But my tastes are all quite simple, I be- 
lieve; I like cold mutton and rice puddings; so what am I 
to do?" 

44 Ye'll just have to do what other women spend their lives 
in doing — pretend ," said Miss Jacky. 44 AVe're all weak creat- 
ures, my dear; but I'd sooner be a woman than a man, be- 
cause I'd sooner deceive than be deceived." 

44 Oh, Aunt Jacky, you don't mean what you say!" 

44 Indeed and 1 do, my dear. Why, I'm pretending and de- 
ceiving all day long. I'm always pretending that 1 like this 
big house, and I don't; I'm pretending that 1 like to be wait- 
ed on, which is just my parteecular abomination; and 1 deceive 
my brother all day long— for his soul's good, my bairn, all for 
his soul's good. And I've no doubt but that in the last day, 
allowance will be made for my situation." 

Stella was rather appalled by this revelation of duplicity; 
but while she was still thinking it over, her father reappeared. 
He seemed in better humor now, and looked at her with a 
faint smile on his gray face. 

44 I'm going down to the mill," he said. 44 1 shall take the 
next car that passes. What's the right time, Stella? Have 
you a watch?" 

44 Oh, yes, papa dear; you gave it me yourself just before I 
went to Brussels. It keeps very good time. Half past nine; 
that is right, is it not?" 


22 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ A trumpery thing!” said Mr. Raeburn, taking the little 
silver watch from her hand, and turning it over disdainfully. 
“ Fll give you a better one than that, Stella. It's not suitable 
for your position now.” 

“ Papa, I am sure I don’t want anything better.” She had 
forgotten her aunt’s recommendations, until Miss Jacky trod 
violently upon her toes under the table; and then, blushing 
aud starting, she resumed: “ I am very much obliged to you, 
indeed. But really it is not necessary — this watch goes beauti- 
fully—” 

“Pooh, nonsense!” said Mr. Raeburn, still good-humored- 
ly. “You must have a new one now; something like what 
Miss Raeburn of Thornbank ought to have. You give me 
your old watch; I’ll see what I can get it changed for — ” 

“ Oh, not the dear old watch that you gave me, dear papa! 
I want to keep it always — for your sake.” 

“ She can lay it past with her dolls and her primers,” inter- 
posed Miss Jacky, pacifically-. “ It is just a little girl’s watch; 
there’s no mistake about that, Stella, and you should have a 
better one, now that ye’re a young lady. So you go away 
down to town, Matthew, and get the watch for her if you like; 
but ye’re no wanting to deprive the poor bairn of her play- 
things, which is but natural that she should have a regard 
for?” 

“ Well, well,” said Mr. Raeburn, letting Stella slip her 
watch back into her pocket, “ as you please. There’s no 
need to exchange it; I can afford two watches, I should think, 
or half a dozen, if I please. A half -hunter, Stella, with your 
initials in brilliants on the back — what do you think of that 
now?” 

Stella was saved from what was to her the painful necessity 
of replying, by the apparition of a solemn man-servant at the 
door. He had come to announce the approach of the tram- 
car, for it was one of Mr. Raeburn’s peculiarities that he 
would never take his own carriage and horses out in a morning 
to convey him to the mill; he preferred the public car. 

Mr. Raeburn went into the hall, but turned back once more 
before leaving the house. 

“ Is that young man — that lad that I saw on the boat — 
coming to-day, Stella?” 

“ 1 don’t know, papa.” 

“ Well, if he comes, you can be civil to him, but not too 
civil. I must make inquiries about him before he gets on any 
intimate footing in this house. Of course, if he was kind to 
you, and you like to pay him the compliment of asking him 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


23 


to eat his dinner with us some evening, you may; but don’t 
you get so friendly. Miss Stella, with every long-legged lad 
you come across. Miss Raeburn must remember her posi- 
tion.” 

“ 1 am sure 1 have never been particularly friendly with 
any one, papa,” said Stella, with flaming cheeks. 

“ Well, may be no. But mind what 1 say.” 

“ I dare say he will not come at all, papa.” 

44 All the better,” said Mr. Raeburn. “ I don’t want too 
many of his sort round the house. There’s no reason why you 
shouldn’t marry a title, Stella, if you manage well. ‘ My 
lady ’ would suit her fine; don’t you think so, Jacky?” 

“ I think,” said Miss Jacky, with severity, “ that you’re a 
bigger fool than ever I took ye for, brother, and that is saying 
a good deal. And ye’ll have lost your tram, moreover.” And 
as Mr. Raeburn hurried out of the room, she subjoined in a 
tone of peculiar acidity: “ Why the Almighty created men 
with so little sense is what I’ve tried all my life to find out, 
and never yet succeeded. They go crowing round like cock- 
erels on a fence, the whole clamjamfry of them, and no one 
ever knows what it’s about.” 

Stella laughed in spite of her vexation. 

“And who’s the young man that he means, my dear? 
Somebody that came in the boat with you from London? 
How did you get acquainted with him?” And then, by a 
series of questions, Miss Jacky won from the girl a recital of 
the events of her two days’ voyage under Mrs. Muir’s shelter- 
ing wing; a recital from which Stella carefully omitted all that 
was particularly interesting to herself, more out of shyness 
than from any wish to conceal the truth. Miss Jacky listened 
with her head on one side, and her eyes slanted toward the 
speaker, with something, of the aspect of a serious cockatoo; 
but after all Stella’s story did not impress her very much. 
Mr. Raeburn’s inopportune warnings had led her to expect 
much more. 

“ Bless us,” she said, “ what’s the good man fashing him- 
self for, I wonder? The young gentleman couldn’t do less 
than make himself agreeable; and to my mind it was no won- 
der if he was a little bit attracted by somebody’s bonny face — 
not but what beauty’s only skin-deep,” added Miss Jacky, 
hastily, for Stella’s moral edification, “ and there’s no account- 
ing for young men’s tastes. Providentially, we haven’t got to 
account for them; and so ” — with a conviction that she was 
showing great conversational tact and finesse — “ let us not 
try to do anything of the kind, but just come out with me 


24 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


into the garden, and then we’ll look at your frocks, and get 
on with our day’s work,” What the day’s work was, it would 
have been hard for Aunt Jacky to define. 

Stella was glad to quit the subject, and did obediently and 
joyously all that was required of her. She and her aunt 
lunched at home, under the eye of a solemn butler and a 
couple of footmen, who made Miss Jacky evidently so nervous 
that Stella was emboldened to propose a new departure on fut- 
ure occasions. “Don’t you think, Aunt Jacky,” she said, 
“ that it would be more comfortable to have lunch in the lit- 
tle anteroom opening out of this big dining-room, and only 
one of the maids to wait on us?” She said this when the serv- 
ants had at last departed from the room. 

“ Your father wouldn’t like it, my dear. It would be much 
more comfortable, no doubt; but I am sure that he would say 
that it wouldn’t be living up to our position. I daren’t pro- 
pose it, Stella.” 

“ Oh, dear, oh, dear, what is our position?” cried Stella, a 
little dolefully, and then laughed at herself for asking the 
question. 

Her heart was beginning to beat a little more quickly as the 
afternoon advanced. Would Mr. Hannington come, or would 
he not? She had gently to combat her aunt’s proposition that 
they should go into the town together, do some shopping, and 
pay some calls. 

“ People shall call on me first, you know, auntie,” said 
Miss Stella, with an immense assumption of dignity. “ I sup- 
pose they knew that I was coming home?” . 

“ Hoity-toity, set her up! As if folk would fall for you,” 
said Aunt Jacky, with much scorn. “A wee bit lassie like 
you to expect people to call for her.” 

But, as both dignity and scorn were mere imitations of the 
real article, aunt and niece immediately laughed at each other, 
and sat down contentedly for a long chat. 

Before the afternoon ended, however. Miss Jagky cam| to 
the conclusion, that Stella had not been mistaken. People 
seemed to see things in the same light as she did, and called 
to ask after her. Mrs. Lyndsay, who lived in another great 
house in the Perth Road, came with her two daughters; and- 
old Mrs. Balsilly, who had been the bosom friend of Stella’s 
grandmother, dropped in and stayed for an hour. Aunt 
Jacky had never been loath to drink a surreptitious cup of tea 
at any hour of the day or night; and she was only too glad to 
bustle about and order the servants, with great accession'of 
dignity, to bring in afternoon tea soon after three o’clock. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


26 


So that, when Mr. Hannington did make his appearance, in 
his leisurely London way, a little before the stroke of five, the 
tea-pot was cold, the cups and saucers stood here and there, 
and the room had the distracted appearance of one in which 
some half dozen people had been moving and talking and 
drinking tea nearly all the afternoon. 

Miss Jacky was inclined to apologize for the disorder, but 
Stella was not at all sorry for it. Looking at the room 
through Hannington’s eyes, she again became conscious of its 
gorgeous ugliness. There was too much of everything, too 
much gilding, too much marble, too much satin brocade, too 
many exotic flowers. The whole thing was overdone. To 
Stella the only really pleasing parts of the room were the 
grand piano, recently ordered for her from Germany, and the 
broad plate-glass widows, with their magnificent view of the 
Tay. She was glad that Hannington commented at once on 
the grand sweep of the river between its picturesque hills and 
wooded banks, and turned his back on the flaunting splendor 
of the Thornbank drawing-room. 

The call was short and rather formal; but it ended in an 
invitation to dinner, which Miss Jacky was as proud to be 
able to give as Mr. Hannington was pleased to accept. In 
two days he was to come, and then, as he gracefully expressed 
it, he would have the pleasure of making further acquaintance 
with Mr. Raeburn. Not with Stella; oh, dear, no! 

Miss Jacky must be held responsible for a good deal. She 
had been exceedingly pleased when Mrs. Lyndsay had called, 
for the Lyndsays were great people in the commercial world; 
and she could not help letting out her pleasure with a certain 
arrangement in which Stella had been concerned. 

“ So kind of them, you know, Mr. Hannington,” she said, 
simply, while Stella blushed hotly and wished that she could 
lay her finger over her aunt’s mouth. “ For I’m sure I said 
to myself, what’s yon ” — yon meant Stella, in this case — “ but 
a poor, wee lassie that’s just come home from school, and 
must wait awhile before she makes friends with her neebors! 
Wait awhile? Not she! She hadn’t been home a day before 
Mrs. Lyndsay and her two girlies came to call for her.” 

“ To go out with them?” said Hannington, who did not 
quite understand. 

Miss Jacky did not see where he had misunderstood her. 
She did not remember at the moment that the Southerner 
says “ call on ” where the Northerner says “ call for,” and 
she wondered a little at the drift of his question. 

“ Not to-day,” she said; “ they just" called for her to-day 




THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


out of pure friendliness, so to speak; but to-morrow she is to 
go out with them for the afternoon if it is a fine day, because 
Stella says that she has never seen Balmerino, Mr. Hanniug- 
ton; and they are to make a party and drive her over; because, 
you know, Balmerino is a place that ought to be seen.” 

“ Is it really?” said the young man, with great apparent 
earnestness. “ 1 ought to go myself, ought I not? I must 
get Donald Yereker to take me. 1 have often heard of the 
place, and meant to see it.” 

“ Ay, and so should you,” Miss Jacky assented, “and if 
Mr. Yereker of the Castle goes with you, you’ll want no other 
introduction; but, as a rule, the keys are kept at the farm- 
house, and the good man does not trust them into everybody’s 
hands. I hope you’ll have a fine afternoon to-morrow, Stella, 
my dear.” 

“ I hope so, too,” said Hannington, looking at her. Her 
eyes were downcast, there was the loveliest flush on her deli- 
cate cheeks. Hannington smiled. “ Did she tell her aunt to 
let me know?” he said to himself. “ Women do these things 
sometimes. She is not very skillful at setting traps as y«t, 
poor little thing. I won’t fail her, however; I will be at Bal- 
merino to-morrow, too!” 

The resolution showed how little he understood the motives 
that actuated Stella Raeburn. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE SECOND DAT. 

Mr. Raeburn came home to his six o’clock dinner with 
the loveliest little watch in his pocket that Stella had ever be- 
held. He did not produce it until dessert was on the table, 
and then he brought it out in its dainty Morocco case with 
great form and ceremony, and handed it to Stella on a dish, 
as if it had been something good to eat. 

“ There, young lady!” he said. “ There’s a watch that is 
worth looking at. Don’t let me see that trumpery silver 
affair any more. It annoys me that you should wear a shoddy 
thing like that when I can afford you as good a one as *ny 
lady in the land. ” 

“ Dear papa, you are so kind,” cried Stella. She could not 
resist the impulse to fly to his side and kiss him, although she 
noticed that he seemed a little taken aback by her' -effusive 
display of affection. “I shall always wen this one, but I 
shall keep the other too, and I shall be just as fond of it in 
my own heart, because you gave it to me.” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


27 


44 There, there !" said Mr. Raeburn. 44 You haven't looked 
at it yet. Sit down, my dear. 1 chose that because of the 
device on the back. It's just a wee bit fanciful. I'll grant; 
but girls don't dislike a thing on that account." 

The device was that of a star in brilliants, with a rather 
large diamond in the center. Stella and her aunt admired it 
extremely; but another surprise was still in store for them. 
Mr. Raeburn watched them silently, the worn, haggard look 
coming back to his face as he sat back in his chair and listened 
to their comments. Presently he smiled and produced two 
more cases, at which Stella gazed in surprise and Miss Jacky 
in consternation. 

44 Can't give one thing to you and nothing to your aunt, can 
I?" he said, appealing to Stella. 44 Hand that over to her, 
my dear. Something for you to wear at the next big dinner- 
party we go to, Jacky. And that’s for you, my girl, and the 
more of that sort you get the better." 

Aunt Jacky's present was a diamond brooch; Stella's a gold 
bracelet studded with diamond stars. The girl's thanks were 
warm and hearty; but she felt a little oppressed by the very 
magnificence of the gift. She had sense enough to know that 
so young a girl as herself ought not to wear diamonds, but she 
feared to wound her father's feelings by saying so. She 
slipped the bracelet on her fair, round arm, therefore, and 
gave herself up to a girlish pleasure in the flashing of the 
jewels in the lamp-light. Miss Jacky looked less pleased than 
she did. 

44 They must have cost a great deal, Matthew," she said, 
after a rather awv ’ard pause. 

44 And what it hey did? Don't you suppose I can afford 
it?" said Mr. R a burn, frowning at her angrily. 44 1 can 
buy up any Dundee merchant twice over, I tell you; I'm a 
millionaire — a billionaire, if you like — and trade's going up. 
I mean to be as rich as Rothschild one of these days. There's 
no limit — no limit — to which I can not aspire and — attain. 
We'll make our Stella a princess yet. There's an old story 
about a Princess Fair-Star in some silly book; we'll make our 
Princess Fair-Star a millionaire. That’ll be a new ending for 
a fairy tale." 

He laughed harshly and rose from the table, regardless of 
the fact that the ladies had not made a move. Miss Jacky 
watched him darkly is he left the room. She could not under- 
stand the changes of his moods. He behaved as if he had 
been drinking. And yet — she had not noticed that he took a 
larger quantity of wine than usual at dinner. There was 


28 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


something about him that made her very anxious now and 
then. 

She turned to Stella; hut Stella, though rather puzzled, had 
not sufficient experience either of her father or of the world at 
large to be alarmed. She was anything but critical by nature; 
and her father had shown himself loving and kind to her. 
That was sufficient to blind her eyes to his defects. 

Besides, Stella had her own affairs to think about. Some 
instinct told her that Mr. Hannington intended to be at Bal- 
merino on the following afternoon; he had not said so, but he 
had looked his intention, and Stella had understood. She 
was half charmed, half frightened at the prospect. He had 
no business to go to the fine old ruin just for the sake of meet- 
ing her, and yet — if he chose to go, who could prevent him? 
She certainly could not. And then her, thoughts resolved 
themselves into an intense anxiety'about the weather. She sat 
at the delightful Bluthner Grand for the evenings singing and 
playing Scottish airs for her father and her aunt; but her heart 
was not altogether in her music. It had flown far away from 
the present into a golden dream of future love and happiness. 

The next day was cloudlessly fine. Mrs. Lyndsay and her 
girls — two rosy, merry lasses, who had a boundless admiration 
for their old friend Stella, with whom they used to go to school 
before she left Dundee for Brussels — called at Thornbank at 
half past one, and drove with her to the steamer, in which 
the whole party — horses and carriage included — would be 
transported from Dundee to the Kingdom of Fife. At New- 
port they would get into the carriage again, and be driven 
westward to the fine old abbey ruin at Balmerino. 

Stella was delighted with every one of her experiences. She 
scarcely remembered crossing the Tay in her childish days, and 
as she walked v up and down the deck with her companions, 
Katie and Isabel Lyndsay, she rejoiced like a child in the mo- 
tion of the vessel, the light, clear air about her, the sight of 
the dancing waves through which the boat plowed its way. 
The pretty villas and .waving green trees of the village on the 
other side excited her highest admiration. “ I should like to 
live there much better than in Dundee!” she cried. “How 
lovely everything is; how clear and bright!” 

“ I’m awfully glad you like it so much,” said Isabel Lynd- 
say. “We thought that you would perhaps be spoiled for 
Scotland by living so long in another country.” 

“ Spoiled for my own native land! Oh, never!” Stella 
cried. “ Wherever I went 1 always sung, 4 Hame, hame, fain 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


29 


wad I be!* I hope that I shall never leave Scotland any 
more. ” 

“ But suppose you wanted to marry an Englishman?” said 
Katie. “ Like Isa, you know; she is engaged to a gentleman 
from London. What would you do then?” 

Katie was only a child compared with Stella and Isabel, 
these two young ladies considered, therefore perhaps she did 
not notice Stella’s sudden guilty blush, and the little involun- 
tary pressure that she gave to Isa’s arm, through which her 
hand was passed. , But Isa noticed both, and constructed a 
romance upon the spot. 

Newport Pier was reached at length, and the drive to Bal- 
merino began. It was a very pleasant drive, but Stella found 
afterward that she did not remember much about it. She 
was hardly conscious of what she said or did, until her feet 
were firmly planted on the green slopes on which the ruined 
abbey walls are set, and found herself suddenly face to face 
with Mr. John Hannington and a friend. And then she felt 
illogically ashamed of herself for having expected to meet him 
there. 

Although she did not know it, she had seldom made a 
prettier picture than when John Hannington encountered 
her. She was standing outside an arched door, which led 
into one of the few remaining chambers of the building. The 
solid masonry was almost hidden by the clustering ivy which 
had fastened on the stones for generations past; the long 
trails, on which the sunlight glinted, fell loosely over the wide 
opening, where the somber darkness of the interior formed an 
excellent background for Stella’s slender figure clad in white 
and green. The gray fragments of stone, the ruined walls, 
the broken window arches, half veiled in ivy, by which she 
stood, would have served excellently for an example of youth 
and age — warm, loving youth, alive and beautiful; age, dull, 
gray, solemn and cold. Such was the comparison John Han- 
nington drew— ^nd it must be added that he congratulated 
himself on his own acuteness in securing the affection of a girl 
who was handsome as well as rich. A beauty and an heiress! 
He was in luck. 

Stella performed her part of introducing him to the Lynd- 
says with a quiet, shy grace , which Hannington heartily ap- 
proved. He in his turn asked permission to introduce Mr. 
Donald Vereker, and as that young man was one of Lord 
Esquhart’s sons, his welcome by Mrs. Lyndsay was assured. 
Katie was charmed to find that this fair-haired, blue-eyed 
young fellow was what she called “ very jolly,” and while she 


30 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


and her mother monopolized him, Isa, who was of a senti- 
mental turn, devoted herself to securing a. few minutes un- 
disturbed to her friend Stella and Stella’s lover. 

For of course he ivas Stella’s lover; she was sure of that by 
the look in Stella’s pretty eyes. So she led them away from 
Mrs. Lyndsay and Mr. Vereker, and when they had entered 
the half-lighted cavern which had once done duty for refectory 
or kitchen, she slipped quietly away, and Hannington was at 
liberty to say what he chose. 

He had already given Stella his hand, because the floor was 
very uneven, and he knew by its tremor that he could go a 
little further still. 44 Come this way and look at the window 
in the wall,” he said, leading her deeper into the darkness of 
the ruined building. 44 You are not angry with me for coming 
here to-day? You are not sorry to see me, Stella?” His arm 
was round her waist. 

44 Oh, please — ” Stella began, but she was not allowed to 
proceed. 

44 1 could not keep away. I love you, Stella— do you not 
know that? Do you not love me a little in return? Stella, 
will you not tell me that you love me?” 

“It is so soon,” she murmured, but her head was on his 
shoulder, and he knew that he might have his way. 

‘ 4 Not a bit of it. The moment I set eyes upon you in the 
4 Britannia ’ I said to myself — that is the woman I should like 
to have for a wife. That is how all true love begins, my little 
darling!” 

44 Oh, no!” She nestled a little closer in his arms, however, 
as she contradicted him. 44 Hot always.” 

44 Yours did not begin so soon, dear?” 

44 No.” 

44 But it is as strong now as if — as if it had begun with 
mine?” 

44 Oh, yes,” she answered, eagerly, almost unaware how 
much she acknowledged by those words. And then she felt 
herself drawn close, and kissed as she had never been kissed 
before — on brow, eyelids, cheeks, and mouth— hotly and pas- 
sionately, and as if his kisses' would never end. She felt her 
face tingle, and tried to draw herself away, but he would not 
let her go. For, after his own fashion, Hannington was a 
little in love with Stella, and his love-making, whether genuine 
or not, had never failed for want of ardor. Her soft, fair face 
and sweet young lips had always appeared to him eminently 
kissable. But it did not at all follow that his fancy for her 
was of a purifying or enduring kind; for a man can only act 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


31 


and feel according to the laws of his being, and eyen his love 
will not ennoble him if he has not within him the root of 
something noble. John Hannington was not without his good 
points; but he was further below the level of a girl like Stella 
Raeburn than Stella herself could have imagined. 

“We must not stay here; they are calling us,” she mur- 
mured at last. Katie's clear voice was re-echoing through the 
low arches and along the broken walls. “ Stella! Stella! 
where are you!" 

“ One kiss, my darling,” Hannington whispered. “ You 
have not kissed me yet.” 

Stella lifted her face in the darkness, and pressed her soft 
lips to his cheek. It was a very sober little kiss; but she felt 
it to be a vow of everlasting fidelity. To the man who won 
that kiss she gave her heart and life. 

“ Now, then, we will go,” said Hannington. “ Stella 
dearest, you love me, do you not?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Say*‘ Yes, John.'” 

“Yes, John,” she answered, very sweetly. * 

“ Then, darling, don't say anything about this to any one 
until I have seen you again. I want to consult you first, be- 
fore I speak to your father. He will grudge you to me, I am 
sure, my beautiful one! Will you promise me to be silent? I 
dine at your house to-morrow, and then we will see.” 

“ As you like, John,” she said, submissively. It was rather 
a trial to her to think of meeting Aunt Jacky’s tenderly in- 
quisitive gaze without immediately responding to it, and tell- 
ing her the whole of her little love story. But of course 
“ John ” knew best. 

“ Thank you, my own darling. Only for a little time,” he 
whispered, as he led her over the damp, dark, uneven stones to 
the light of the outer day. Here the Lyndsays awaited them, 
and summoned them to a general exploration of the place. 

“ We had quite lost you,” said Katie. “ We did not know 
that you were there. Mr. Yereker says that he is an archaeol- 
ogist, and can tell us all about the building. Come and listen, 
Stella.” 

But, although Stella walked demurely at Mrs. Lyndsay's 
side, it is to be feared that she did not hear much of the Hon. 
Donald's explanations. She said presently that she was tired, 
and sat down on ’a long, low boundary wall, which scarcely 
showed its stones among the grass. The trees were green and 
shady; the sunlight threw ggjden rays between their boughs 
on the soft turf at their feet. She looked at the moldering 


32 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

walls, and wondered a little about the history of the men who 
had once dwelt between them; wondered if they had loved 
and prayed and striven as people do in our days, and whether 
maidens had ever before been. wooed in the cold stone cells of 
Bal merino. Henceforward the place would be a sacred one to 
her. 

44 Hot much of a ruin after all, is it?” said Donald Vere- 
ker’s cheery voice. 44 Ever been to Dunkeld, Miss Raeburn? 
That’s a fine place. You’d like it better than this.” 

“ Should I!” thought Stella. But she did not reply in 
words. She plucked a little ivy leaf from the wall beside her, 
flattened it carefully between her hands, and placed it (when 
she thought nobody was looking) in one of the folds of her 
purse. Only Isa Lyndsay — following the course of the little 
love-drama with loyal interest — perceived and understood. 

' “I’m awfully bowled over,” said Donald Vereker that 
evening, with an expression of the deepest self-commiseration. 
44 1 feel that I have received my death-blow. 4 Carry me out 
to die,’ somebody. 4 1 am slain by a fair, cruel maid.’ ” 

44 Who is £he lady?” asked one of his sisters, laughing. 
There was a large party in the billiard-room at Esquhart 
Towers, and Donald’s confession was evidently made for the 
public benefit. 

44 Her father is something in jute, I believe,” said the Hon. 
Don, as his friends often called him. 44 Her name’s Stella — 
star of my existence! Don’t look so black, Hannington. I’m 
not going to poach. You should have seen Jack adoring her 
to-day at Balmerino; it would teach you a lesson.” 

44 We don’t need a lesson,” said Lady Grace. 44 We all 
know Mr. Hannington.” There was perhaps just a little 
malice in her tone. 

44 Don’t mark my score to any one else. Lady Vat,” called 
out Donald. 44 You’re marking, aren’t you? That’s mine. 
I declare 1 believe you were putting it down to Jack.” 

They all laughed. They were a merry party, and suffi- 
ciently familiar with each other for much jesting and badinage 
— more, sometimes, than Hannington quite cared for. He 
took up his position beside Lady Val — who was a cousin of 
the Esquharts, and whom he had known for years. »She was 
a tall, handsome woman of six-and-twenty, with flashing, 
black eyes, a bold, haughty face — which yet had something in 
it that was fine and frank and irresistibly engaging — and a 
particularly bright and winning smile. 

44 Who is this girl?” she imked him, carelessly, but in a 
lowered voice. 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


33 


“ 1 think he means a Miss Raeburn whom we met to-day at 
Balmerino. Several girls were there. ” 

She shot a keen glance at him. 4 4 Was Miss Raeburn’s 
name Stella?” 

“ I believe it was,” said Hannington, examining his cue 
rather attentively. 44 1 think 1 heard her called so.” 

Unfortunately for him Donald Yereker heard the last words. 

44 You think you heard her called so? Oh, base deceiver! 
you know it as well as 1 do, for you told me her name your- 
self.” 

Lady Yal’s eyes hashed their black lightnings at Hanning- 
ton, but that gentleman only smiled and shrugged his shoul- 
ders, which, under the circumstances, was perhaps the best 
thing he could do. 

44 Miss Stella Raeburn is about the prettiest girl I ever 
saw,” Donald went on. 44 She has got perfect features, 
golden hair, blue eyes, a rose-leaf complexion, and —I assure 
you, on my honor — no Scotch accent. She has been ‘abroad 
for some years — that’s why. She’ll have a pot of money, for 
her father’s a regular millionaire— why, she’s said to be the 
biggest — ” 

An interruption here occurred. Mr. Yereker was sum- 
moned to the door of the billiard-room, and asked to speak to 
the agent who had just arrived from Dundee on business. 
He did not come back for several minutes; but when he re- 
turned his face was a little grave and pale, and his manner 
had grown subdued. 

44 1 have just heard of a shocking thing,” he said, while the 
company halted in their game and looked at him in surprise. 
44 You know that I was speaking of that beautiful girl whom 
we met to-day? Well, this very afternoon — for aught I know, 
while we were amusing ourselves in the ruins at Balmerino — 
her father, Matthew Raeburn, shot himself in his own office — 
blew out his brains with a revolver, in, it is supposed, a fit of 
madness, and was found there dead when his clerk looked in 
at six o’clock this evening. MacIntyre has just brought the 
news.” 

44 Oh, that poor girl!” cried Lady Yal, and looked to Han- 
nington for sympathy. But he did not reply. 


CHATPER V. 

STELLA’S LOVER. 

John" Hahhihgtoh felt puzzled as to the course that he 
should pursue. Ought he to call at the house of mourning? 


34 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

Ought he to write? Should he wait until Stella made some 
sign? If he had been deeply in love with her, these difficulties 
would probably have solved themselves. He would have flown 
to her side, and tried to make himself a comfort and a sup- 
port to her. But then he was not particularly in love with 
Stella — only with her pretty face and her fortune. The pretty 
face would now, he reflected, be disfigured with tears; the 
eyes would not smile, nor the rosy lips return his kisses; he 
had better stop away. The fortune — thank Heaven ! — was all 
the more secure because of Matthew Raeburn's death. No 
father would now be there to interfere, and Stella would not 
object to his using her money in his own way. Hannington 
built a good many brilliant castles in the air at this time. It 
seemed to him that his luck was about to change. 

He was of course very sorry for Stella. . He hoped — and 
this was a serious consideration — that there was no taint of 
madness in the blood of the Raeburn family. Not even Stel- 
la’s fortune — unless it were a very large one indeed — would 
gild that pill. What but madness would have led Mr. Rae- 
burn to raise his hand against his own life? There were no 
reasons for the act; the man was surely solvent, and Stella's 
million secure. 

He pondered over these matters a good deal, and grew 
rather absent-minded in consequence; so that his friend. Lady 
Valencia Gilderoy, popularly called Lady Val, asked him one 
day what was wrong. They were in the billiard -room to- 
gether, for both were passionately fond of billiards; but after 
a rather perfunctory game, they had established themselves in 
a cushioned window-seat, whence they watched the driving 
rain that had fallen all day as if it would never cease. 

“ What a sigh!" said Lady Val, at last. “ What is wrong 
with you. Jack." 

“ I don't think anything is wrong with me. Lady Val." 

“ Oh, don’t tell me that. You are not like yourself one 
bit. Is it money this time?" 

They were very old friends, and Jack, as she called him, 
did not resent the questioning. 

“ No," he said, slowly, “ it's not money exactly." 

“ Then," she said, very decidedly, “ it's the little Dundee 
girl." 

“ I do not quite know whom you allude to, Lady Val." 

“ Don't get on your high horse with me. Jack. You know 
perfectly well. You've not been like yourself ever since we 
heard of that poor man's death, and Donald savs that you 
were quite smitten by her leanx yeux — " 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


35 


“ Les beaux yeux cle sa cassette,” hummed Jack, almost be- 
low his breath; then, in a louder voice, 44 I assure you. Lady 
Val, that Donald knows nothing about it. I admired the 
young lady, certainly, but to be 4 smitten ' in Donald's sense 
of the term is quite a different thing." 

Lady Yal gave him one of the very keen looks that Mr. 
Hannington did not altogether like, and held his peace for a 
time. Presently she said, more seriously than usual : 

44 I'm sorry for that girl. She will be having a bad time of 
it. She has no mother, 1 hear, and no brothers or sisters — 
only an old aunt. She must feel uncommonly lonely, poor 
child. I wish it were the proper thing to go and see her; not 
that I should be much good as a consoler." And she laughed 
a little harshly. 44 Why don't you go, Jack?" 

“1?" said Hannington. “I— well! — would that be the 

proper thing?" 

44 Don't know. I'm sure. Never did know what was the 
proper thing, all my life long. I do what 1 feel inclined, and 
propriety takes care of itself." 

44 We are not all so privileged. You do the right thing by 
instinct, and need not care about conventional views. We 
poor men toil after you by slow degrees, and make a hundred 
mistakes to your one." 

44 1 like you least of all, do you know, when you pay com- 
pliments," said Lady Yal, carelessly. 44 Give me that box of 
caramels off the table, please, and let us mitigate the severity 
of the Scotch summer by French bonbons. Do you like 
caramels?" 

44 Immensely— when they come from you." 

44 No compliments." 

44 It is no compliment. It is sober fact. I adore every- 
thing that comes from you!" 

He dropped on one knee as he spoke, in an attitude of mock 
adoration. Lady Yal, enthroned on the red cushions of the 
wide window-seat, laughed at him, and offered him her box of 
sweets. He declined, unless she would herself put one into 
his mouth with her own fingers. At first she refused, but 
after a little persuasion consented, and laughed to see him 
reduced to speechlessness by an unusually big caramel. She 
looked very animated and handsome, her eyes sparkling, the 
color flashing into her cheeks, her white teeth gleaming be- 
tween those ripe red lips. Hannington heartily admired her. 
In fact, he thought her far more handsome than Stella. 

What would Stella have thought of him if she had seen him 
kneeling at Lady Val's feet, crunching her bonbons, laughing 


36 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


at her jokes, while she — the girl that he professed to love — 
was agonizing "in the first sorrow of her young life? — all the 
blacker and more terrible to her because the man who had 
won her heart was not at her side to enable her to bear it. 
Lady Yal was innocent enough; she had not the ghost of an 
idea that there was anything definite between her old friend 
and “ the little Dundee girl,” as she designated Stella; but 
John Hannington himself could not be held blameless. He 
was not without pangs of conscience. It tfbuld be wrong to 
suppose that he had no heart at all. But both conscience and 
heart spoke very feebly in the presence of self-interest, love of 
the world, and a desire to be comfortable. 

“ Do you remember,” he said, rather more softly than he 
knew, “ how we sat a whole afternoon together in the fork of 
an apple-tree ten years ago, with all the govenesses scouring 
the park for you, and the marquis threatening me with a 
horsewhip whenever I appeared?” 

“ I remember it. That was the first time you proposed to 
me,” said Lady Val, coolly. 

“ But not the last.” 

“ Oh, dear, no. We have gone through the form half a 
dozen times, have we not? Really, it has quite grieved me to 
put you to so much trouble. ” 

‘ ‘ Has it ! Perhaps you had better reconsider your decision?” 

“Is that to count as the seventh?” she asked, with a 
haughty sparkle in her great black eyes. “No, no. Won't 
do. Jack. If we marry at all, we must marry money, you and 
I. We are both as poor as church mice, and we can not 
afliord to give up the world for each other, can we? We must 
each take our chance when it comes.” 

“ 1 have often wondered why you never were married, Val. ” 

“ Not for want of asking, Mr. Hannington,” she replied. 
He bowed at the implied rebuke. “ My single estate suits me 
very well, thanks. I can do as I please; perhaps I couldn't, 
if I had a husband. And as for you, your destiny is decided. ” 

“ How?” 

“ Money, Jack, money. You know you must marry an 
heiress, or what will become of you? Perhaps the little 
Dundee girl would do; or somebody else with a few odd mill- 
ions. Aren’t you really going to see her?” 

“ Not in this weather,” said Hannington, with a shrug of 
the shoulders. He stood leaning against the wall beside the 
window, with a slightly dissatisfied expression on his face. A 
talk with Lady Yal often sent him away dissatisfied. He 
wanted more of her than he could get. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 37 

But when the conversation was ended and he had time for 
reflection, it struck him that her hint was a valuable one. 
Evidently, if he wanted to secure Stella's affection, he must 
not show himself neglectful of her in her trouble. He wrote 
a little note that very evening before dinner, and put it in the 
post-bag at the last moment with his own hand, so that no 
other eyes should rest upon the address. It was a skillfully 
worded little note: short, tender, sympathetic, yet not suffi- 
ciently definite to commit him to very much in the future. 

He was not surprised to receive an answer in less than 
twenty-four hours. Stella must have written within a very 
short time of receiving his letter. It was clear that she was 
longing to be comforted; that she thoroughly believed all his 
protestations, and that she had no idea of hiding anything 
from the man she loved. At the same time, he thought her 
letter a little cold. 

44 Dear Mr. Hahnihgtoh," she wrote, 44 your kind letter 
has just reached me. I can quite understand why you did not 
write before. We are in great trouble. I can not tell you 
everything in a letter; but if you will come to see me — after 
Friday — we can talk together/' Friday, Hanning ton under- 
stood, would be the day of her father's funeral. Then came 
the less composed, the more unstudied part of the letter. 44 I 
am very, very miserable. I should be still more miserable if 
I had not you to trust to. You will tell me what to do — I 
trust you with all my heart. I have not known you long, but 
I feel as if years had passed since we came to Dundee together 
on board the 4 Britannia.' You will forgive me if have I said 
too much. Stella. " 

44 Dear little thing," said Hannington, as he folded up the 
letter and put it into his pocket-book. 44 She is half afraid, I 
can see, that 1 shall think that she has been too quick in 
giving her heart to the first bold wooer. The modern Juliet! 
Let me see, what does the older one say? 

“ ‘ In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, 

And therefore thou may’st think my havior light; 

But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true 
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.’ 

Pretty creature! I'll go on Saturday and allay her fears, and 
dry her eyes with kisses. I don't see why we shouldn't be 
married immediately. What will Yal Gilderoy say to that, 1 
wonder? If only she had the money, I know very well which 
I should choose. But there's no chance. If I don't make a 


38 . THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

great coup with an heiress before long I shall be floored, in- 
deed.” 

He spoke lightly about the matter even to himself; but he 
was rather unusually nervous when he set out on Saturday 
afternoon to pay his visit to Miss Raeburn. 

He had not had much experience of women in distress. His 
fair acquaintances had generally shown the sunny side of their 
natures to him. He fancied that when they were in trouble 
they flew into hysterics, slapped their maids’ faces, shed oceans 
of tears, and were generally noisy and irresponsible. That he 
could not imagiue Stella doing any of these things was noth- 
ing to the point; he believed that every woman had incalcula- 
ble reserves of unreasonable folly in her nature, and of course 
Stella could be no exception to the rule. 

“ Will you walk this way, sir, please?” said a solemn- 
visaged maid in black, who opened the door to him at Thorn- 
bank. 

The ponderous footman, the irreproachable butler, seemed 
to have disappeared. Hannington noticed a look of forlorn- 
ness about the marble-paved hall, where no masses of exotic 
flowers now exhaled their sweetness to the air; there was an 
oppressive silence in the great new house. He wondered, with 
a little shiver, whether he was to be called upon to go into the 
big, gorgeously furnished drawing-room, the bright coloring 
and gilding of which would now seem more outrageously out 
of taste than ever. Even the great sunlit view of the river 
from the plate-glass windows would somehow be intoler- 
able. But he was not required to bear with such incongruities. 
The maid led him to a small room at the end of. a long passage: 
a place to which, as he suspected, the women of the family 
had betaken themselves in their hour of trouble. It was a 
small room, octagonal in shape, with low book-slielves running 
round it, a desk in one corner, a work-table in another. The 
window was narrow, and looked out upon a shrubbery. The 
room had an air of habitation which belonged to few other 
parts of the house. It had always been appropriated to Aunt 
Jacky’s use, and had proved a veritable harbor of refuge to 
Stella during the past few days. 

The room was not very light. The servant had shut the 
door before Hannington was quite sure that Stella was alone 
in the room with him. She came forward very quietly — a 
slender figure all in black — and held out her hand as if about 
to greet an ordinary visitor. He gathered her in his arms, 
and kissed her on the brow, but for the first few seconds did 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 39 

not say a word. The silent tenderness of his greeting almost 
overcame poor Stella’s powers of endurance. 

She lay, trembling from head to foot, upon his shoulder; he 
could just see her cheek, and noticed that it was very white; 
the little hands which clung to him were limp and cold. 

“ My darling, how you must have suffered!” Hannington 
said at length. He led her to a sofa and seated himself beside 
her, with his arm round her waist. He was surprised to hear 
no outburst of emotion, no sobs of grief. But outbursts of 
any kind were not in Stella's way. 

She raised her head from the shoulder on which he had 
tried to make it rest. Her eyelids were red and worn with 
weeping and sleeplessness, but her voice and manner were 
very calm. 

“ It has been hard,” she said. “ I suppose you know all — 
all about it — from — the newspapers?” The little catch in her 
voice was very pathetic, even to Hannington’s ear. 

“ 1 know something, of course. It was very sad; but, my 
darling, you must not let your mind dwell upon it. He must 
have been ill, you know; not accountable for his actions at the 
time. It was a sort of delirium. ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know that,” said Stella, quietly. “ Dear papa 
was far too good to end his life in that way if he had been in 
his right mind. You do not know how good and kind he 
was! — always thinking and planning for others — for me, es- 
pecially — ” 

She faltered a little and bit her lip, while a tear stole silently 
down her white cheek. Hannington caressed her mutely. She 
was surely very brave, this little Dundee girl! Would she 
break down and make a scene before he went away? Her 
grief had not destroyed her beauty one single bit. He felt 
honestly, genuinely fond of her. 

“ He was always so generous,” the girl went on, as if 
pleading with him for her father’s memory; “ so anxious to 
do good, and so upright and honorable all his life long! 
Every one respected him. He was a good man, John. You 
will never doubt it, will you, although his own hand took 
away his life?” 

“No, dear; I wiH never doubt it.” 

“ So kind — so loving — so tender-hearted!” said Stella, with 
vehemence. “ Nobody could doubt it who knew him — who 
knew him as well as Aunt Jacky and I! It shows how up- 
right he must have been, that these business troubles should 
prey on his mind so much, and even affect his brain at last! 
Half of it was for my sake, I believe. As if I would not have 


40 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

been just as happy in a cottage as in a palace — far happier in- 
deed than in this big, overgrown, new place, which I don’t 
like half so well as our old house in the Nethergate.” 

“He had business troubles, then?” said Hannington, a 
sudden qualm of fear assailing him. 

“ Oh, yes! Did you not know? It was in to-day’s paper; 
but perhaps you have not noticed it. He was not so rich as 
people thought him to be, and that preyed upon his mind. The 
doctors say that all his excitement and his eager way of talk- 
ing about his riches merely showed the strain that he was un- 
dergoing. If he had made up his mind at once to retrench 
and to live quietly, he could have weathered the storm, they 
say. But a sort of madness seemed to have taken hold of 
him. He is not a bankrupt, but the house and everything 
will have to be sold at once, and Aunt Jacky and I will have 
only a pittance to live upon. But you must not be sorry for 
me, dear,” she said, suddenly breaking off at the sight of a 
strange expression on Hannington’s face; “ as long as I have 
you, I want nothing else! And you will not love me any the 
less if I am a beggar, will you?” 


CHAPTER VI. 

ME. HAMKIMGTON’S DECISION. 

Hahfimgtom was aghast. And even at that moment not 
only for his own sake. He was sorry for Stella, though he 
was sorrier for himself. Stella Raeburn a beggar! Could 
this be true? 

4 4 It is bad news indeed,” he said, not able to keep the dis- 
may out of his voice. 

44 You will not love me the less, will you, John?” 

44 No, dear; oh, no. But — we can’t disguise the fact, Stella 
—it may make a material difference in our plans for the fut- 
ure. I — I — am not — rich.” He could not give her this hint 
without perfectly genuine agitation. It seemed to him that 
fate had played him a cruel trick. 

44 1 know,” said Stella, slipping her little hand — oh, so con- 
fidingly — into his nerveless fingers, 44 you told me that in the 
boat. But we are young and strong; we can work and' wait — 
surely? It may not be for so very long. ” 

44 Why? Have you any other prospect?” There was a new 
hardness in his tone. 

“ Oh, no, except that of earning money,” said Stella, shyly. 
44 1 thought of taking a situation, if you would not mind — if 
you would not be ashamed of me. 1 speak French and Ger- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


41 


man fluently, you know, and my music and singing are pretty 
good; I don't think I should find any difficulty in finding 
children to teach. " 

“Youa governess! Nonsense! Is that necessary?" 

“ I think it will be," said the girl, her eyes filling with tears 
at the sharp edge in his voice. ‘ £ I must see that my aunt 
wants nothing; and our income will be very small." 

“ What shall you do then?" 

“ Oh, John, don't look as if you were angry with me." 

“ I am -not angry, dear; or at least I am only angry with 
circumstances — for your sake — that things should have turned 
out so — " • 

Stella turned toward him pleadingly. “If it is God's will 
that we should suffer, John, ought we to repine?" 

Hannington had difficulty in repressing his usual character- 
istic shrug. 

“ It does not grieve me very much to have to work for my 
own living," she went on, her sweet treble tones wavering a 
little now and then. “ If only I could have worked for my 
dear, dear father, how gladly I would have done it! There is 
nothing hard in working for those we love. What I grieve for 
is his death and his distress of mind before he died." 

“ I am afraid," said Hannington, “ that everybody can not 
be so unworldly as you, Stella." 

She gave him a troubled, puzzled look. She did not see his 
meaning in the least. “Don't you approve of my plan?" 
she asked. 

“ Did you mean to carry it out in Dundee?" 

“No, not in Dundee. I could not bear it here; and it 
would be worse for Aunt Jacky than for me. Some friends of 
ours, the Sinclairs, have written to us to stay with them in 
Dunkeld for a little time, and if I go there I may be able to 
get some work." 

“It is a horrible idea," said Hannington, suddenly rising 
to pace the room. “ You are not fit to work. And 1— I am 
a poor, miserable dog, with barely a sixpence in the world. I 
— I don't see what we are to do." 

His eyes fell; he could not bear to look her in the face. 

“ We must wait," said Stella, softly. 

“ Yes, we must wait," he said, in almost an eager tone. 
“ We really can not decide on anything just yet. If you go 
on your visit to Dunkeld, perhaps something will turn up — we 
must not be rash, you know, Stella; I must not let you be 
rash—" 

He stopped abruptly and drummed with his fingers on a lit- 


42 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


tie table that happened to be near at hand. Stella sat with 
downcast eyes, the color stealing into her pale cheeks. Was 
he going to propose something rash on his cwn account? 
There are times when women adore rashness. If he had 
asked her to marry him in a week, Stella could not have 
found it in her heart to say him nay. But that proposal was 
not in his mind at all. 

“ When should you go?” he asked, advancing toward her, 
but not touching her — rather holding himself back a little 
rigidly as if under some restraint. 

“ Next week, I think. The sooner we are out jf the house 
the better. There is to be a sale . 99 

“ 1 shall know where you are? I shall be able to write to 
you?” 

“Yes.” 

“You see I shall not be able to stay much longer in this 
neighborhood,” said Hannington, rather nervously. “My 
visit to the Esquharts terminates next week, and I — I don't 
quite know what I am going to do then. You will let me 
know your movements?” 

For almost the first time Stella felt hurt and chilled. She 
lifted her eyes with a lovely reproach in their azure depths: 
“ Of course I shall, John!” 

He bit his lip. “ And I shall see you again or write to 
you,” he said. “ I think I must really be getting off; 1 shall 
only just be in time to dress for dinner.” 

Stella was a little surprised. “ It is five o'clock,” she said. 
“ I thought they did not dine till eight at the Towers. You 
will take some tea before you go?” 

“ Thanks; no, I would rather not. You will give kind 
messages from me to your aunt? I must see her another 
time. ” He was becoming extremely anxious to get away. 

“ May I tell her, John?” 

“No, I think not, dear. Not just yet, darling,” he said, 
turning his eyes away, and trying to speak softly. “I will 
write. ” 

“You are not vexed with me, are you?” she asked, coming 
up to him, and laying her hand gently on his arm. 

“ Vexed with you? Certainly not. Why should I be 
vexed? I — confound it till, Stella, don't you see what a posi- 
tion I am in?” he said, actually stamping with vexation, and 
then relenting when he saw her frightened face. “ Poor little 
darling! it isn't your fault. You are the sweetest, noblest, 
most perfect of perfect women! Dear Stella! you do care for 
me a little, don't you? You won't quite forget me!” 


THE TUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


43 


He kissed her as he spoke. She had no idea that he meant 
his kiss for an eternal farewell. She clung to him tremulous- 
ly and looked piteously into his face. 44 Must you go?” she 
asked. 

“ 1 must, indeed. Good-bye, my little darling. Don't try 
to keep me, there's a good girl. I'll write.'' 

She released him at once. Her face was very white, and 
her lips quivered, but she did not utter a single sob or a com- 
plaining word. She had heard it said that women were cow- 
ards and incapable of self-control. She would show her lover 
that she could be bravely mistress of herself. He kissed her 
again, and hurried out of the room, not daring to look back. 
In view of the resolution which he knew that he should ulti- 
mately take, he felt himself the meanest of the mean. 

Stella watched him depart, and then, as was perhaps natural, 
she threw herself on a sofa, and burst into an agony of sobs. 
The interview had been wretchedly unsatisfactory; but what 
she wanted she scarcely knew. Some of Hannington's looks 
and tones returned to her with startling distinctness; but she 
did not yet know their full meaning. Any doubt of his fidelity 
would have seemed to her cruelly disloyal. 

Hannington strode down to the railway station, whence he 
took a train to the village on the outskirts of which Esquhart 
Towers was situated, and arrived at his host's abode about six 
o'clock in the afternoon. He went straight to his own room, 
and did not appear till dinner-time, having, in the meantime, 
thoroughly reviewed the situation, and made up his mind what 
to do. “A very near thing!” he said to himself. 44 1 was as 
close to making a mess of it as ever I was in my life. Luckily 
nobody knew, and I can back out of it in time. Why, if I 
am to marry a girl with no money, I might as well take Lady 
Val, who has pride and spirit and good blood, and can amuse 
a fellow when he's low. Stella's not a patch upon her after 
all, although she's a sweet little thing, and very fond of me. 
She'll get over it and be married in a twelvemonth. I must 
settle matters as speedily as possible. Jove! it was a very near 
thing!” 

He looked as brisk and bright as usual when he appeared in 
the drawing-room before dinner, and Lady Val eyed him 
somewhat curiously. It fell to his lot to take her down to 
dinner, and no sooner were they established at the table, and 
a busy hum of talk was arising on every side, than she turned 
with one of her abrupt but not ungraceful movements, and 
said, in a quick, low tone: 

44 Well, how about the little Dundee girl?” 


44 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


He looked at her in surprise. 

“ You’ve been to see her, I know. How was she?” 

“ Oh, poor little thing, as well as one could expect,” said 
Hannington, accepting the situation. “Feels it very much, 
of course.” 

“ Is it true that she will have no money after all?” 

“ Quite true, poor girl. Going out as a governess, I be- 
lieve.” 

“Then” — Lady Val’s eyes flashed — “there was no truth 
in what Donald said? You are not going to marry her.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Mr. Hannington, tranquilly. “ I 
always told' you I should marry for money.” 

A dinner- table which holds a large party is not at all a bad 
place for confidential communications. After an interval, in 
which the servants were performing their usual offices. Lady 
Val resumed, with her eyes on her plate: 

“ She’s not disappointed in you, then?” 

“ My dear Lady Yal! What cause could she have to be dis- 
appointed in me? Old friends like yourself may, of course, 
have good reason to feel that I don’t always come up to their 
standard, but I have only a casual acquaintance with Miss 
Raeburn.” 

Lady Yal tossed up her chin and looked skeptical; but as 
Hanning ton’s tranquillity was perfectly unmoved, and he be- 
gan almost immediately to talk of other things, she acquiesced 
and spoke no more of “ the little Dundee girl.” But she did 
not forget her for all that. 

Meanwhile Stella was pouring out her heart on paper as she 
had never poured it out before. She wrote to John Hanning- 
ton that she was afraid that she had vexed him; that she would 
do his bidding, and would renounce her scheme of becoming a 
governess, if he wished it; that all her desire was to please 
him, and that she was not afraid of poverty so long as he loved 
her. In short, she wrote as a woman only writes when she is 
devoted heart and soul to the man who receives such an ex- 
pression of her feelings; and yet there was not a single word 
in which she might be held to outstrip the bounds of maidenly 
modesty and refinement. Her love was implied throughout, 
but it did not thrust itself into words. It was a letter which 
would have brought a true lover to her side at once, to com- 
fort and console. But Hannington had never loved her as she 
believed; and her words embarrassed him so terribly, that he 
could not undertake to reply to them without deliberation. In 
a couple of days he sent her some half dozen lines assuring 
her, coldly enough, that she had not offended him and that he 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


45 


would write again or visit her at Dunkel$, if she would only 
send him her address and the date of her departure from Dun- 
dee. He did not want, in fact, to do or say anything too 
definite before she left the neighborhood. 

Stella sent a timid little note, which breathed in every line 
of a wounded heart, to say that she and her aunt were leaving 
Dundee on the Thursday of that week. She inclosed her ad- 
dress, and ventured to add a sorrowful hope that he would 
write to her very soon. 

“ The sooner the better, perhaps/’ said Hannington to 
himself. The task was a hard one even for him, and he had 
some difficulty in performing it. But the letter was written 
and dispatched on the Friday. 

Some delay occurred in Miss Raeburn’s arrangements, how- 
ever, and it was not until Saturday afternoon that Stella and 
her aunt arrived at Dunkeld and were met by their friends at 
the railway station. Mrs. Sinclair was not a constant resident 
in Scotland, but she had lived at Dunkeld when she was a girl, 
and was exceedingly fond of the place. She and her husband 
had taken a house for the season, and, as they were much at- 
tached to Stella, they had determined to keep her and her aunt 
with them for as long a time as they would stay. Mrs. Sin- 
clair was almost an invalid, and Mr. Sinclair had bookish and 
scientific tastes. They had not many acquaintances in the 
neighborhood, and were able to promise entire seclusion to 
their desolate guests. 

Stella looked admiringly at the hills and the beautiful old 
town, as she was driven from the station in an open carriage 
toward St. Anselm’s — the house which Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair 
occupied. For a little while the shadow of her great grief 
seemed to lift itself as she looked at the exquisite landscape 
around her, and heard the historic names of hill and vale. 
They drove slowly along the road until they came close to the 
bridge which spans the river Tay — -here only a brawling stream, 
compared with its majestic volume as it nears Dundee, but 
far more beautiful in its swift career over rocks and stones, 
under the arches of the bridge beside the wooded banks and 
glades and heather-covered hills, than almost any other river 
in the world. Mr. Sinclair knew the place exceedingly well, 
and was in his element in naming the different points of inter- 
est to a stranger. Steba, usually full of intelligent attention, 
listened rather languidly. What had he been telling her? she 
wondered afterward. “ The cathedral — the duchess — salmon- 
fishing — Duke John — Birnam Wood that came to Dunsinane ” 
— it was all confused and mingled in her ear. Only the beauty 


46 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


of the scene remained clear. They halted by the bridge, so 
that she might see the view. She was struck by the golden 
color of the water as it lay in shallow pools beneath the sun — 
the water was low, and the stream looked very narrow between 
its banks — by the beauty of the rowan-trees, and the woods 
that were begining to “ color ’’ beneath the autumnal touch. 
She had no conception that the moment was big with Fate. 

Their course did not lie over the bridge, but along the road 
beside the river for some distance. Just as they started again, 
Mrs. Sinclair uttered an exclamation. 

“ I declare if I hadn't forgotten it till now! There has been 
a letter waiting for you since yesterday, my dear Stella. 1 
brought it with me, in case you might like to have it at once. 
Open it or not, just as you please." 

She handed the girl an envelope, addressed to Stella, in John 
Hannington’s handwriting. 

Stella hesitated, with the letter in her lap. Then, seeing 
that Mr. Sinclair was speaking to the coachman, and that Mrs. 
Sinclair was attending closely to Miss Jacky’s crisp sentences, 
she ventured — in spite of the beating of her heart — to open the 
letter and peep at the contents. 

Then she looked up. The scene was what it had always 
been, but it had suddenly lost all charm for her. On her right 
hand flowed the gleaming river, on the left rose a bank of 
woody ground. The shadows of the trees lay across the road, 
in pleasing mosaic work of alternate light and darkness. The 
air was as fresh, the sky as clear and blue as ever. But for 
many a long day Stella had only to close her eyes and bring 
back a vision of that lovely scene beyond the Dunkeld Bridge, 
in order to renew the sensation of deadly sickness, faintness, 
and utter despair. It was as if she had received her death- 
warrant upon that pleasant road beside the Tay. For in his 
letter John Hannington had not minced matters. He could 
not marry a poor woman; he would not — could not — ask her 
to wait for him; he renounced all pretension to her hand. In 
short, he gave her up, utterly and entirely — because she was 
poor. And that was how Stella’s love-letter was answered. 


CHAPTER VII. 

OH THE ROAD. 

Stella did not faint or cry out. She sat perfectly still, 
the letter crushed in her hands, her face white to the lips. 
Before long, Mrs. Sinclair was struck by her extreme pallor. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 47 

and drew Aunt Jaeky’s attention to it by an exclamation of 
horror. 

“Why, my dear child! Look at her. Miss Jacky. Is she 
going to faint?’ ’ 

“Not at all,” said Stella, essaying to smile, and slipping 
the letter quietly into her pocket.- “ I have a little headache, 
that is all. ” 

“ You must lie down when we get home, and I’ll send you 
a cup of good, strong tea,” said Mrs. Sinclair, with a friendly 
nod. “ Poor dear, you’ve had a deal to try you lately, have 
you not?” 

But the allusion to her recent sorrow was too much for Stella 
to bear. She drew her veil down and said nothing, but Mrs. 
Sinclair saw that her hands were trembling and the tears drop- 
ping from her eyes. She turned delicately away, and for the 
rest of the drive confined her remarks to Miss Jacky, who had 
been going about, ever since the terrible day of her brother’s 
death, with red eyes and a persistent habit of sniffing, but with 
undiminished energy and a sharper tongue than ever. Stella 
was for the present left alone. 

The carriage presently left the main road and turned up a 
narrow lane to the left. Here slow and careful progress was 
necessary, as the ruts were deep and an occasional stone lay 
in the way; but if Stella had been in her accustomed mood, 
she would have enjoyed the drive by this narrow ascent, where 
the trees met overhead and afforded only an occasional view of 
the distant water and the towering hills round “ fair Dun- 
keld.” St. Anselm’s stood on high ground and overlooked 
the town and river; it possessed a splendid site, and the only 
thing to be regretted was the fact that the house itself was 
square, commonplace, and not particularly large. But Stella 
saw nothing; her eyes were blind with grief. 

The poor child was dimly thankful to be left alone at last 
in the great chamber which Mrs. Sinclair had assigned to her. 
She threw herself on the bed and wept, as only young creat- 
ures can weep in the hour of trial — with an utter hopelessness 
and despair of the future, than which, we learn in later years, 
nothing can be more futile. Stella believed that she could 
never be happy again. Her misfortunes seemed more than 
she knew how to bear. Her father’s death — so painful in its 
concomitant circumstances — the loss of her fortune, the de- 
sertion of her lover — these were troubles indeed. And what 
made it worse was her recollection of the trust that she had 
bestowed on John Hannington; the tender words that she had 
lavished, the offer to wait for him — oh, the shame of it! when 


48 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

he had not wanted to wait for her; the absence of reserve and 
caution, which, in her single-hearted acceptance of his appar- 
ent homage, she had never thought of maintaining. It 
occurred to her now that she had been much too ready to listen 
to him, that she had been too easily won to gain his esteem; 
and she resolved, in bitterness of spirit, that no one should 
ever again have reason to accuse her of overeagerness to listen 
to a lover. She would live and die single and heart-broken; 
she would earn an income for Aunt Jacky, and do her duty 
in the world, but the joys of life could never come to her. 
She saw herself, in imagination, growing old and gray, not 
cheerful, like dear Aunt Jacky, but stiff and rigid and unre- 
sponsive, and she sickened at the thought. Thirty, forty, fifty 
years of it, perhaps! Oh, if she could but die at once, and 
hide her sorrow and her mortification in the grave! 

She was sufficiently prostrate next day to be unable to rise, 
and the doctor who was sent for talked about a severe nervous 
shock, and the advisability of keeping her quiet. Stella 
turned her face to the wall, and hoped and longed that she 
was going to die. Surely she could not go on living with the 
cold hand of despair upon her heart? 

But youth is strong and life is sweet in spite of passionate 
asseverations to the contrary. In a few days Stella was down- 
stairs again — out on the lawn — walking feebly at first, and 
then with growing vigor, along the shady lanes and over the 
heathery hills; and then she recognized the fact she was not 
going to die but to live, and that, in spite of the pain at her 
heart, she must begin to look for her work in life. 

She did not think of answering John Hannington’s letter. 
She burned it one day in a paroxysm of grief and shame, and 
never thought of wondering whether or not he had destroyed 
those loving letters which he had had from her. An older 
woman, of more experience, would perhaps have written to 
demand their restoration. The mere remembrance of them 
brought a scorching flood of crimson to poor Stella’s cheek 
and brow; she certainly could not have borne to allude to 
them again. She wished the remembrance of them to be en- 
tirely blotted out; and she never imagined that Hannington 
might not be quite as anxious as she was to obliterate all 
traces of her first foolish dream of love. Stella’s letters made 
very pretty reading, in Hannington’s opinion; and now that 
he had shown her the facts of her position, he had no idea of 
depriving himself of the gratification which her expressions of 
devotion might some day afford to him. 

When Stella grew stronger she began to take long walks; 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


49 


and as neither Mrs.* Sinclair nor Aunt Jacky were strong 
enough to accompany her, she generally took them alone. As 
the autumn advanced, she began to make some silent prepara- 
tions for her future work. She inserted an advertisement in 
the local papers, and put an announcement in the windows of 
various shops, to the effect that a lady wished to give daily les- 
sons in French and German (acquired abroad), English, music, 
and singing. It was a modest little advertisement, and seemed 
to attract no attention from anybody. But Stella was not dis- 
mayed. She made inquiries about lodgings in Birnam and 
Dunkeld, and consulted the clergymen of the neighborhood 
about her chances of success. One and all asked her the same 
question — why had she fixed upon Dunkeld as a place in which 
to start her career? When the visitors left it in the autumn 
there was not the least chance for anybody, without very 
special qualifications indeed, to find pupils. 

“ I suppose that I must go to Glasgow or Edinburgh,” 
Stella reflected, sorrowfully. “ I thought Aunt Jacky would 
like Dunkeld better; that was all. And also, perhaps, that 
Mrs. Sinclair could find me something. But she seems to 
know nobody.” 

It was in October when she came to this conclusion. She 
set out one afternoon for a long ramble — a longer one, indeed, 
than her aunt or her friends would have thought advisable; 
but she was a good walker. She was accompanied by a splen- 
did colly dog which belonged to Mr. Sinclair, but had at- 
tached himself almost exclusively to Stella since the beginning 
of her visit. She passed through Dunkeld, and turned up 
the road which ran past the village of Inver, toward the Rum- 
bling Bridge and the Hermitage Falls. It was her favorite 
walk, and she had plenty of time before her. The Braan 
would be especially fine in a day like this, for the previous 
two nights had brought heavy rain, and the stream would be 
“ in spate,” a sight which Stella ' had heard of but had not 
seen. She carried a basket for roots also, as she had heard 
Mrs. Sinclair express a wish for some specimens of oak fern 
which grows freely on the banks of the Braan. 

She had got well up the hill, and was standing to look once 
more at the view — the little tributary stream with the village 
on its banks in the valley below her, and, further on, the 
towers of Dunkeld, with the ever-varying background of hill 
and forest, and the canopy of a brilliant yet changeable au- 
tumn sky — when she was roused from her dreamy mood by 
the sound of horses* hoofs on the road. She could not see the 
riders, because the road turned sharply at a little distance 


50 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


above the spot where she was standing* but the sound told 
her that several equestrians were advancing, and she did not 
care to be overtaken in the attitude of a tourist or a landscape 
painter, as she phrased it to herself, gazing at the scenery 
with abstracted eyes — an incarnate note of admiration! She 
called Laddie to heel, and walked on soberly in a purposeful 
and business-like way. 

A party of some half dozen riders came down the road. At 
the first two or three Stella did not even glance; but as the 
fourth passed, she became conscious that the gentleman had 
made a quick movement as if to raise his hat, and then re- 
frained, seeing that she either did not see him or did not mean 
to look at him. Stella had just time to bow to Mr. Donald 
Vereker. She looked instinctively at the next couple; and 
then the color flashed into her pale face. It was John Han- 
nington and a lady — a very handsome woman, by the bye, with 
a good deal of color, and very black hair and eyes. 

Hanning ton did an extremely foolish thing. He did not 
often lose his self-control, but for a moment he certainly lost 
it now. Without waiting for Stella to bow first, he impulsive- 
ly raised his hat. In spite of the hot, tell-tale color in her 
face, however, Stella had spirit enough not to return the salu- 
tation. She looked him steadily in the face and passed him 
by. Hannington's dark face grew purple with rage and 
shame. 

“ The cut direct!” said his companion, no other than Lady 
Val, who never spared him when she got an opportunity of 
lashing Him with her tongue. “ What does that mean, Jack? 
Did not that uncommonly pretty girl recognize you, or does 
she mean to decline your acquaintance?” 

“ Pm sure 1 don't know,” said Hannington, giving a sav- 
age cut to his horse's flanks. “ I suppose she does not re- 
member me; or perhaps I am mistaken in her face.” 

“ Impossible, with such a startlingly pretty one,” said Lady 
Val. She turned round and glanced after Stella. “Very 
graceful, too. Distinguished-looking. Who is she?” 

“ Oh, 1 must have been mistaken. I thought it was a 
young lady I once traveled with from London; but she would 
liave known me, 1 think.” 

“ There is not much question as to whether that girl knew 
you. There was recognition in her eye, Mr. Jack, and a fine 
determination to have nothing more to do with you. Don- 
ald ” — spurring her horse forward to her cousin's side — “ who 
was that girl in black who bowed to you just now?” 

“Why, Miss Raeburn,” said Donald, unsuspiciously. “ The 


51 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

girl whom we met at Balmerino, don’t you know — the very 
day of her father’s suicide. She’s lost all her money and has 
left Dundee — I didn’t know she was in this part of the world.” 

4 4 Oh/’ said Lady Val. She shut her lips rather tightly, 
and kept a thoughtful silence for some minutes; then joined 
her friends in front. Hannington was left in the rear, with a 
very sullen expression on his face. 

44 Confound the girl!” he said to himself. “ I’d sooner 
that had happened before anybody rather than Val Gilderoy. 
She does badger one so, and she is so abominably sharp. What 
a fool I was not to pass her by as if I had never seen her in my 
life before! I would not have come this way if 1 had known 
that she was here. Mrs. Muir certainly told me that she had 
left Dunkeld. And really I should never have thought that 
Steha would show so much spirit! But it was deuced awk- 
ward for me, and I owe her a grudge for it. So look out. 
Miss Stella Raeburn; for if I can do you a bad turn by way of 
paying you out one of these days, I shall do it. I generally 

do pay my debts in that line; and by I’ll make you 

apologize or smart for it. You forget that I’ve got those 
pretty letters of yours at home. I’ll keep them now.” 

Meanwhile Stella, with flushed cheeks and rapidly beating 
heart, was making her way at a very quick pace up the hilly 
road toward the point which she wished to reach. But she 
had forgotten all about her destination. She was conscious of 
nothing but the insult which, as she conceived it, John Han- 
nington had put upon her, and of the desperate upheaval of 
pride and bitter anger that had taken place within her heart. 
How dared he bow to her? Did he think that she had taken 
his repulse so lightly that it was easy and possible for them 
now to meet as old acquaintances? He must think little of 
her, indeed! 

Stella was too young to take such matters calmly. It would 
have been far better for her to treat Hannington as a casual 
acquaintance 'than to proclaim to all the world that she looked 
upon him as her enemy. Such an action on her part told her 
story to a clever woman like Lady Val much more clearly 
than she or John Hannington ever meant to tell it. But she 
was unconscious of her mistake. She was in a flaming heat of 
anger, mortification, and wounded feeling, and felt vindictive- 
ly glad that she had had the chance of showing him that she 
no longer wished for his acquaintance. 

But anger and vindictiveness were not natural to her. Be- 
fore long her steps slackened, her color fell, her eyes began to 
fill with tears. She turned aside from the road, and scram- 


5 2 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

bled a little way down the hill-side along which it ran. The 
murmur of the Braan below was full and strong in her ears, 
but she did not notice it. She had forgotten all about her de- 
sire to see the Hermitage Falls. She only wanted to get down 
among the trees, to seat herself in the heather and fern, lean 
her face on her hands, and cry her heart out. And that w*as 
what she did. “ Oh, John, John! and I loved you so!” she 
whispered to herself. “ If only 1 could forget you — for you 
are not worthy even of my love — but I never, never shall.” 

“ Never,” the proverb says, “ is a long day.” But Stella 
was thoroughly in earnest. She did not believe that John 
Hannington could ever be indifferent to her, or that she could 
ever love any man again. 

Absorbed in her reflections, she had not heard the sound of 
footsteps on the road above the bank on which she sat. There 
had first been merry voices and steps not far from her; then 
these had died away. Next came a tall man of handsome face 
and stately bearing. He looked round him with a frown upon 
his brow; he paused in his walk several times, and when he 
saw Stella half-way down the hill-side, he made her step side- 
ways, as if to turn in her direction and address her. But a 
second glance caused him to change his mind. Her slender 
figure, in its closely fitting black dress, had nothing remark- 
able about it; even the knot of golden hair, in which the sun- 
beams seemed to be imprisoned beneath her black hat, did not 
attract his attention very much, but as he looked, it became 
clear to him from the movement of her shoulders that the girl, 
whoever she was, was sobbing uncontrollably; that the crouch- 
ing attitude was that of grief, and that the colly who stood 
beside her was wagging his tail and trying to lick her face, in 
that sympathy with sorrow which intelligent animals often 
show toward their masters and their friends. The gentleman 
turned hastily away, thankful that he had not intruded on her 
solitude. When he had gone some little distance, some feeling 
of remorse took possession of him. Ought he to have asked 
her if she wanted assistance of any kind? — if she were ill or in 
pain? 

“ Pooh!” he thought to himself, as he strode on again, 
“ my wits must be wandering, to make me think of such a 
thing. A woman’s tears! They come easily enough, and 
mean little enough, Heaven knows! She has had a quarrel 
with her lover, perhaps; or her vanity has been wounded, or 
she is hysterical over the death of her canary bird; or ” — a 
softer mood coming over him — “ she is grieving over a friend’s 
death, poor soul; and there nobody can help her but God. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


53 


She wears a black dress; mother or father dead, perhaps. A 
sad lot for the young!” and he heaved a sigh, as if there were 
some personal reference in the words. 44 She may not be 
young; -by the bye, I forgot that!” he continued, with a half 
smile. 4 4 She has hair like that girl on board the 4 Britannia ’ 
last summer — curiously brilliant, without a touch of red in it. 

“ ‘ Her liair that lay along her back 
Was yellow, like ripe corn.’ 

A commonplace young person, probably, seeing how she was 
letting that scamp Hannington make love to her; her yellow 
hair the only point of resemblance to 4 the blessed Damozel ’ 
of the poem. But, of course, this girl is not the same. 1 
wonder where those children have got to by this time? It is 
natural, 1 suppose, that as 1 am an old fogy, they should give 
me the slip. Hark! what was that?” 

It was a shriek — clear, piercing, and intense. On the still 
autumn air, sounds were carried to considerable distances. 
This cry came from the vicinity of the water — of that the gen- 
tleman was sure. It was followed by an answering shout, 
meant to be reassuring, but dying away in a quaver of alarm. 
And there came another scream, unmistakably in a girl’s 
voice. 

44 Molly!” cried the gentleman in the road. 44 Not in the 
water, I trust! God help us, if she is!” 

He rushed down the hill-side, tearing his way with consider- 
able rapidity through clumps of gorse and bracken, and be- 
tween the young stems of the undergrowths, toward the place 
from which he had heard the cry. The roaring of the water 
sounded louder and louder in his ear as he drew closer to the 
bank. It was a difficult thing to get quickly to the water’s 
edge, for the hill-side was steep and slippery. He was below 
the falls, which poured over the rocks with the vehemence of 
a stream in spate, its yellow foam scattering drops far and 
wide, its volume increased threefold by the recent storms. A 
story crossed the man’s mind as he made his way down the hill 
— so encumbered by the wild undergrowth that he could 
scarcely see what was happening until he was close upon the 
water— of a child’s slip into the whirling, swirling pool at the 
foot of the Hermitage Falls. No rescue had been possible, 
and the child’s body had been picked up bruised and battered, 
in smooth water further down. He shuddered at the thought, 
as ho brushed aside the branches and stood by the water’s 
edge. What did he see? 


54 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MOHCRIEFF OF TORRESMUIR. 

A girl of fifteen years old — his own daughter Molly, as he 
was very well aware — had rashly made her way from bowlder 
to bowlder until she stood close to the deep pool which was 
well known to be the most dangerous spot in the swiftly rush- 
ing little river. Evidently her nerve had given way at this 
very point; the broken branch of a rowan-tree just above 
showed that she had clutched at it, and that it had snapped 
in her hands; the fragments of a stick which she used as a 
sort of alpenstock were already whirling down the stream. 
She could not go forward; she was afraid to go back. Her 
body was half poised over the stream; it swayed a little, as if 
she were dizzy, and another frightened scream came from her 
white lips. Meanwhile a youth, somewhat older than herself, 
was hurrying across the bridge from the other side, and call- 
ing to her to be careful — not to move until he came to her 
help— not to lose her head. It was very plain that he had lost 
it already. Another moment without help and she would have 
fallen and been dashed against the stones. 

But help which Molly’s father had not looked for was at 
hand. A slender figure in black, which he had seen already, 
was standing on the stones and holding out a parasol to the 
frightened girl. Stella had advanced as far as she could, and 
had not had time to feel alarmed until Molly clutched the 
parasol handle so violently that she almost lost her own bal- 
ance. Then for a moment she did feel a qualm of fear, but 
she recovered herself instantly. 

‘‘Steady!” she said. “Don’t jump. Step over; it is not 
far. There! you are on firmer ground now. Pass me and get 
to the bank.” 

She held Molly’s hand until the girl had passed her, but the 
unlooked-for apparition of her father gave Molly another 
fright. She started violently, and dragged Stella forward in 
rather a dangerous way. 

“ Take care! take care! What are you doing?” said the 
father. He handed her hastily to the stones near the bank, 
holding out his other hand at the same time to Stella. It was 
fortunate that he did so. For Molly’s hasty movement had 
caused Stella to slip, and although she did not quite fall, one 
of her feet and part of her dress went into the water. If - no 
one had been holding her, it would have been doubtful whether 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


55 


she could have recovered herself; but as it was, she clung des- 
perately to the strong hand that clasped her own, and was car- 
ried rather than led to the safe path-way, where Molly now 
stood crying. Her brother had arrived upon the scene pant- 
ing, and white as a sheet with terror. 

44 Are you better? You have not hurt yourself ?” said the 
gentleman, still supporting Stella with his arm. 

44 Thank you, I am all right; I was not hurt,” she an- 
swered. Then she looked at him and he looked at her, and 
both gave the very slightest possible start. He recognized her 
as the girl with golden hair on board the 44 Britannia,” and she 
remembered that John Hannington had named him to her as 
Alan Moncrieff of Torresmuir. The remembrance did more 
than anything toward bringing the color back to her lips. 
She was very white when he landed her, for her fright had 
been severe. 

Mr. Moncrieff raised his hat. 44 1 can not express my grati- 
tude to you, madame,” he said, 44 in stiff, courteous accents, 
through which his real emotion had some difficulty in manifest- 
ing itself. 44 But for your presence of mind and timely help, 
my daughter would scarcely, I fear, have been rescued from 
her very perilous position. We are indeed deeply, most deep- 
ly, indebted to you. Molly ” — a little sternly — 44 surely you 
have something to say?” 

Molly gasped out a few unintelligible words, and Stella tried 
to put a termination to the uncomfortable little scene. 

“ 1 was very glad that I happened to be so near,” she said. 
44 1 had really little to do — my parasol did more than I; and 
you kindJy gave me your help at the end. It was nothing at 
all. ” 

She inclined her head slightly and was about to move away, 
when Moncrieff hastily interposed. 

44 Excuse me,” he said, 44 but I see that you are exceedingly 
wet. May I ask if you have far to go?” 

Stella looked with some embarrassment at her dress, which 
was certainly clinging to her in a very unpleasant way. 

44 Not so very far; it does not matter at all,” she said. 44 It 
will dry as 1 walk. ” 

44 May I ask if you are going to Dunkeld?” said Mr. Mon- 
crieff, with his resolute air of requiring an instant answer. 

44 To St. Anselm's,” said Stella. 

44 St. Anselm's? The house on the hill? Four miles from 
here, I should think, is it not? But you must not go that dis- 
tance in your present state; I can not possibly allow it.” 

44 You'll come home with us, won't you?” interposed Molly, 


56 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


breathlessly, drying her tears, and favoring Stella with a gaze 
of wide-eyed adoration. 44 We live very near, and — " 

44 If Molly will allow me,” said her father, with a dryness 
t)f tone which made the girl shrink back with a frightened 
look, 4 4 1 was about to propose that you should avail yourself 
of the fact that my house — Torresmuir — is tolerably near. 
My housekeeper will see that your — your things are dry before 
you go home. Molly will be only too glad to have the oppor- 
tunity of doing you any small service in her power in return 
for the great one that you have bestowed on us; and, as for 
myself, i assure you that my house and all that it contains 
are entirely at your disposal . 99 

Stella was inclined to smile at so much stateliness, which 
seemed to her like that of a Castilian don rather than that of 
a Scottish laird. But she liked his face, grave and stern 
though it looked to her; and she liked his children's faces. 

Moreover, she knew something of him by report, and was 
aware that she was in good hands. A long walk home with 
these draggled garments clinging round her feet would be un- 
comfortable and perhaps dangerous; and — the thought flashed 
suddenly across her mind — she might possibly meet Mr. Han- 
nington and his friends again on her way home, and she could 
not bear the idea of their seeing her in this drowned-rat condi- 
tion! It was this consideration more than any other that in- 
duced her to accept Mr. Moncrieff's offer, and to turn away 
from the water-fall with his party. 

44 I must beg leave to introduce myself,” said Molly's father, 
with a smile that made his face singularly pleasant. 44 My 
name is Alan Moncrieff — Moncrieff of Torresmuir— and this is 
my madcap daughter Molly, who deserves a good scolding for 
the fright she has given us. My son Bertie,” he added, in- 
dicating the boy, who was standing at Molly's side. 

44 And my name is Raeburn,” said Stella, frankly. 44 1 am 
staying with my aunt at Mrs. Sinclair's, at St. Anselm's, the 
house on the hill.” 

44 You come from Dundee?” said Moncrieff, inadvertently, 
and then was angry with himself for saying it. He had been 
thinking only of her voyage in the 44 Britannia,” but he saw 
from her pained face that she imagined him to be alluding to 
the tragic death of her father, nn account of which had, of 
course, appeared in every newspaper. 

44 Yes,” she said, rather sadly, 44 1 come from Dundee.” 

44 What an idiot 1 am!” said Alan Moncrieff *to himself. 
44 1 ought not to have mentioned Dundee to her. Ah, that 
was why she was crying when I saw her on the hill-side; poor 


THE tTJCK OF THE HOTTSE. 


57 

girl, she has had enough to cry for! Her eyelids are reddened 
yet.” 

The boy and girl had slunk on together, as if glad to be out 
of their father's hearing, and he took the opportunity of say- 
ing quietly: 

44 Let me tell you. Miss Raeburn, that I know your name, 
and that my father was well acquainted with your father in- 
days gone by. Every one who knew Mr. Raeburn esteemed 
him most highly. I have never heard a man spoken of more 
warmly, and I have always had the greatest respect for him.” 

The manner in which the words were uttered — simple, un- 
affected, sincere — was more flattering to Stella's love for her 
father than even the words themselves. She tried to thank 
him, but could only raise her eyes, swimming in tears, for a 
moment to his face by way of answer. He relieved her by 
stepping on in front, as if to clear some loose branches out of 
her way; and the moments of silence and reflection that his 
action gave her restored her to calmness before she had reached 
the road, where Molly and Bertie awaited them. 

“If you will allow me, Miss Raeburn,” said Mr. Moncrieff, 

4 4 1 will go on to the house and tell Mrs. Greg that you are 
coming. I can walk faster, perhaps, than you can, and she 
will make any preparations that are necessary before you 
arrive. Come, Bertie.” 

He set off, almost without waiting for an answer ; and Stella 
felt exceedingly grateful for his consideration. The clinging 
of the wet gown round her ankles impeded her progress, and 
she could manage it more easily when she was walking with a 
girl like Molly than with two gentlemen. As soon as father 
and son were a few yards in advance, Molly began to chatter, 
as seemed her usual custom. 

44 What should I have done if you had not come up? I 
should have certainly fallen in and been drowned. Oh, it was 
dreadful! Thank you so much for helping me out, and I am 
so sorry you got wet. I ought to have said so before, but I 
never can say anything when papa is there. I know he will 
scold me fearfully when you are gone.” 

She pouted as she spoke, like a naughty child, although she 
was as tall as Stella and very well developed for her age. She 
was exceedingly pretty in a certain style. Her features were 
not perfect, but her complexion was exquisite, though sug- 
gestive, by its very brilliance, of some delicacy of constitution; 
her hazel eyes were wild and bright, and her hair — hazel- 
brown, with threads of ruddy gold in it — danced and waved 
over her shoulders in marvelous profusion. Her brother had 


58 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 

more regularity of features; he was long and weedy, and rather 
sickly looking; but he only wanted health to make him very 
like his father, which Molly certainly was not. Her dress was 
untidy, Stella noticed; it was torn in more than one place, 
and stained in others; her hat had a broken brim, her shoelace 
was loose, and he* hands were gloveless. She looked anything 
but what she was — the daughter of a man of no inconsiderable 
fortune, position, and attainments. 

“ What made you venture out so far?” Stella inquired. 

“Oh, just for fun! Bertie said I daren’t; and I said I 
would. I know papa’s in an awful rage.” 

“ But you might have been drowned. 1 hope that you will 
not do it again, vyll you?” 

Stella’s gentle tones chased away the cloud that had been 
gathering over Molly’s face. 

“ 1 won’t, if you ask we not,” she said, heartily. “ But if 
papa had lectured me, I ivould. Only, after all, he never lect- 
ures; it’s Uncle Kalph who does all that. Papa only looks at 
me. ” 

Stella thought it wisest to change the conversation, and drew 
Molly into a lively discussion of the beauties of Laddie com- 
pared with her dog Bran — a discussion which lasted until the 
gates of Torresmuir were reached. 

The house was large, fantastically gabled, and of picturesque 
ly different heights. The gardens were laid out in terraces, 
for the ground was too uneven for any large level space to be 
available for lawn or flower-bed. A graveled terrace before 
the door, bordered with an ornamental wall, afforded one of 
the loveliest distant views that Stella had ever seen. She could 
not resist stopping to look^it it, in spite of her wet clothes. 

“ Yes, it is pretty,” sain Molly, with an air of proprietor- 
ship. “ The river winding in and out is so lovely, isn’t it? 
Why, you can see ever so many miles — right away toward the 
Pass of Killiecrankie. Papa can tell you the names of the 
hills better than 1 can. Doesn’t Craig-y-Barns look beautiful 
from here? There’s papa making signs from the window, and 
here is Mrs. Greg; so will you come in?” 

Stella had no reason to complain of her treatment. She 
was taken to a luxurious bedroom, where a fire, hot water, 
warm towels, and various articles of clothing awaited her, and 
Mrs. Greg was eager in offers of assistance. Stella put on a 
skirt of Molly’s — it was quite long enough for her — and Mrs. 
Greg promised to send her own back to St. Anselm's as soon 
as it was dried. And when she was ready to depart, as she 
thought, Molly conducted her, almost by force, to the draw- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


59 


ing-room, where tea had been prepared, and where Mr. Mon- 
crieff and his son awaited her. 

They all made much of Stella. They waited upon her as if 
she had been a princess; it seemed as if they could not do 
enough for her. In fact, her sweet face and golden hair had 
quite fascinated the young people; and the fascination extend- 
ed itself to Alan Moncrieff as well. He thought that he had 
never seen a lovelier face than that of poor Matthew Raeburn’s 
daughter. 

Stella was sorry, however, to see that his eye grew stern and 
cold when it rested on Molly, and that the child shrunk away 
from him as if she knew that she was in disgrace. A whisper 
from Bertie to his sister had already caught the visitor’s ear. 
44 He’s in a fearful wax because I didn’t take care of you. 
Says we both ought to be sent to bed like babies; and that 
you’re to go to school next week. ” At which Molly’s face 
assumed an aspect of great tribulation. 

44 1 think 1 must really go now,” said Stella, at last. 66 It 
will be nearly dark when 1 reach home; so I must make 
haste.” 

4 4 The carriage is waiting, if you insist on leaving us so 
soon,” said Mr. Moncrieff, courteously. 44 Bertie, run down 
and tell Macgregor to drive round. I could not think of your 
walking all that distance. Miss Raeburn, after your experiences 
this afternoon. You must allow me to have the pleasure of 
sending you home.” 

Stella protested, but in vain. The carriage, drawn by two 
magnificent bay horses, was at the door; and Moncrieff put 
her in with his stateliest air, and a few words of heartfelt 
thanks, which she felt redeemed the stateliness. She wished 
that she could plead for Molly, who was evidently under her 
father’s displeasure, but she hardly knew how far she might 
venture to go. She did say, however, with a pleading glance: 

44 And your daughter has promised never to be so rash 
again. ” 

64 1 am glad to hear it,” said Moncrieff, understanding per- 
fectly well the meaning of that gentle speech. 44 If she has 
promised, I know she will keep her word, and so I need not 
be angry with her, need I?” He smiled and put his hand 
affectionately on Molly’s shoulder as the carriage rolled away, 
and Stella was pleased to feel that she had won Molly’s pardon 
before she went. 

The drive did not seem long to her. She had much to 
think of, but her thoughts were by no means so melancholy as 
they had been that afternoon. The timely help that she had 


60 ~ * THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

given to Molly, the deferential courtesy shown by Mr. Mon- 
crielf, the sight of the quaint, beautiful old house, which she 
had scarcely had time to look at and admire — these things oc- 
cupied her thoughts. It was quite a shock to meet once more 
the riding-party that she had encountered in the afternoon, 
because it brought her thoughts back to a domain which, for 
the time being, they had left; but the shock was not very ter- 
rible.^ She turned away and caressed Laddie, who sat on the 
rug beside her, and hoped. that in the gathering twilight they 
had not recognized her face. But they had. 

“ Wonders will never cease,” said Lady Val, looking back. 
“ That's the Moncrielf carriage. Moncrielf of Torresmuir, 
the proudest man you ever knew, sending the little Dundee 
girl home in his barouche! What does that mean, 1 wonder?” 

“You can ask him to-night. He is going to the Maxwells’ 
to dinner,” said Hannington, rather ill-temperedly. He knew 
that Lady Val was going too. 

“I will,” said the lady, briskly. And she was as good as 
her word. 

“ Oh, Mr. Moncrielf,” she said, later in the evening, look- 
ing with secret admiration at the face of the grave, stately 
man who was standing near her, “do tell me— didn’t you 
know a Miss Raeburn who is staying in the neighborhood?” 
She had not the faintest idea where Stella was staying; she 
drew her bow at a venture. 

“ She ‘saved my little girl’s life this afternoon,” said Mon- 
crielf; and then he told her the story of Molly’s escapade. 

“ What a monkey your Molly is! Full of life and spirit!” 

“ Too much so, I am afraid. 1 must either send her to 
school, or find a governess for her.” 

“I have an inspiration,” cried Lady Val. “ Why don’t 
you get Miss Raeburn herself to tame poor Molly’s wild 
spirit?” 

“ Miss Raeburn herself? But — would she — ” 

“ She hasn’t a penny, and I heard that she was looking out 
for a situation some time ago,” said Lady Val, with her usual 
carelessness about facts. “ I believe that you would be doing 
her a service, Mr. Moncrieff. I really do.” 

“ Is she competent?” Moncrielf asked, quietly. 

“ Can you look at her face and doubt it?” 

He smiled and shook his head. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I was in the post-office to- 
day, and 1 saw a written notice, setting forth that a young 
lady in Dunkeld wanted to give lessons in French, German, 
music, and all the etceteras. Perhaps that is Miss Raeburn, 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


61 


You might follow it up and find out. The initials given were 
S. K. — Pm sure of that.” 

Mr. Moncrieff said that he thought it unlikely that Miss 
Raeburn would condescend to teach his little girl, and 
changed the subject. 

It was odd that he could not get rid of a few lines from the 
poem, which he had previously quoted to himself that after- 
noon anent Stella’s golden hair. 

“ Her eyes were deeper than the depth 
Of waters stilled at even; 

She had three lilies in her hand. 

And the stars in her hair were seven.” 

They were appropriate, he thought, to no woman upon 
earth. And yet there was a sense in which a good woman 
might be, to any man, “ a blessed damozel,” indeed. Was 
Stella Raeburn one of these “ elect ladies ” of the land? 


CHAPTER IX. 

molly’s GOVERNESS. 

Lady Yal had been right. It was Stella indeed who was 
advertising her qualifications as a teacher; and, although Mr. 
Moncrieff gave no sign of acceptance of Lady Yal’s suggestion, 
he made a mental note of it. And on the following afternoon 
he walked down to the post-office in order to make inquiries. 
He went alone, but that was no unusual thing. Fond as he 
was of his children, he could not adapt himself to them; his 
manner was austere and .cold, and the gravity which really 
arose from a profound melancholy looked very much like 
severity. Molly was openly and vexatiously afraid of him; 
her tongue would fall silent, her movements become awkward 
if he were near; and Bertie, although he controlled his hands 
and feet better than did his hoidenish sister, was apt to be 
seized with fits of shyness and timidity which would have been 
excessively painful to a loving and observant father. But 
perhaps Alan Moncrieff was not very observant; and, if he 
were of a loving disposition, he kept the fact a secret from all 
but a chosen few. 

In answer to his questions, he was furnished with the ad- 
dress of the lady who wanted pupils. As he expected it was: 

“MISS STELLA RAEBURN, 

Care of Mrs. Sinclair, 

St. Anselm’s, 
Dunkeld 


62 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


He folded up the paper on which the words were written in 
Stella’s clear, pretty handwriting, and put it in his pocket. 
Then he strode out into the street again, and, after a few mo- 
ments’ reflection, decided that it would be as well if he paid a 
call at St. Anselm’s that very afternoon. He knew Mrs. 
Sinclair slightly, and it would seem natural enough that he 
should call to inquire after Miss Raeburn when she had ren- 
dered him so signal a service yesterday. He need not say any- 
thing about the teaching unless he had an opportunity. * In 
fact, he felt conscious that a rather difficult task lay before 
him; for Miss Raeburn, being, as he could see, both proud 
and sensitive, might fancy that he was offering her a post out 
of mere gratitude; whereas, Mr. Moncrieff impatiently told 
himself gratitude had nothing to do with it. 

He made his way up the hill-side, by the grassy road which 
led from the high-way past the gates of St. Anselm’s and over 
the hill. Before he reached the gates he congratulated 
himself on his good fortune. There was Miss Raeburn 
herself, walking slowly along the road, with a book in her 
hand. As she neared him, he could not help remarking 
that she was sweeter-] oo king than ever. Her face was not now 
white and disfigured with tears as it had been on the previous 
day; there was a slight, delicate bloom on the fair cheeks, and 
the serious eyes were limpid and clear like those of a child. 
It would be impossible to associate deceit with those candid 
eyes — that was the thought that crossed Mr. Moncrief’s mind 
at the sight of Stella; double-dealing, concealment of any 
kind, could never be the characteristics of a woman with that 
pure and honest-looking face. The thought was somewhat 
naif and unsophisticated for a man of Alan Moncrieff ’s knowl- 
edge of the world, but he harbored it, nevertheless, and took 
a sort of pleasure in the conviction of Stella’s truth. 

He shook hands with her, and told her that he intended 
calling upon Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Jacquetta Raeburn, but 
evinced no special disappointment when told that these ladies 
were out driving with Mr. Sinclair. 

“ And you have not accompanied them?” he said, kindly. 
Stella could not help feeling that he spoke and looked at her 
as if she were a child. 

No; she preferred walking instead of driving. 

“ You are very fond of walking?” he said, pacing along by 
her side, as she turned toward the gate. 

“ Oh, very! I like my half dozen miles a day when I can 
get them.” 

“ But that must have been difficult when you were abroad?” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 63 

said Mr. Moncrieff, pausing at the gate as if he did not want 
to enter the grounds. Stella perceived the hesitation. 

“ There was an English teacher with whom I used to walk,” 
she replied. “We did a great deal of sight-seeing in Brussels* 
Will you come in, Mr. Moncrieff? Mrs. Sinclair is sure to be 
home almost immediately, and she will be so grieved if I have 
not offered you a cup of tea.” 

“ Thank you, but 1 am afraid I must not wait. Miss Rae- 
burn — excuse me — is it true that you want pupils? My ques- 
tion sounds abrupt; but our time may be limited, and I heard 
that you were anxious to teach if you could find scholars. ” 

“ Yes, but I do not think that I shall find them here,” said 
Stella. “ They tell me that I must go to Glasgow or Edin- 
burgh, or even London!” and she sighed at the prospect, and 
looked at the purple hills with eyes that seemed ready to fill 
with tears. 

“We might perhaps find you a pupil or two nearer home,” 
said Mr. Moncrieff. What a caressing intonation his voice 
could take! — and yet she still felt as if he were talking to her 
as a child. “You know French and German very well, I 
dare say?” 

“ Yes, I think so. And I can sing and play,” said Stella. 

“ But, perhaps, in your long residence abroad you have for- 
gotten all your English? I am taking the privilege of age, 
you see, and putting you through quite a catechism; 1 hope 
you will forgive my doing so.” 

“Iam very glad to be questioned,” said Stella, with down- 
cast eyes. “ I scarcely know what I can teach and what I 
can not. I had some practice in teaching at Madame Beau- 
vais’s, however; for I used to beg to help with the little ones, 
I loved them so much. And my English — I dare say it has 
fallen behind, because I have not had many English lessons 
since I left school at Dundee; and I was only thirteen years 
old then. I used to read history and literature with an old 
English clergyman in Brussels, and he lent me books— but 
that was all.” 

“ Books! What kind of books? Novels?” 

“ Oh, no,” .said the girl, shaking her head. “ I have read 
only Scott’s novels and one or two of Thackeray’s in my life. 
No; Mr. Morris made me read Gibbon and Hume, and Arnold 
and Mommsen, and Grote and Macaulay, and a great deal of 
old English literature — Chauce, and the poets, you know — 
and he taught me Latin, too, and some mathematics, but not 
much.” 

She paused, for Mr. Moncrieff was regarding her with an 


64 THE LUCK OP THE HOUSE. 

interest not unmingled with amusement. 44 I think,” he said, 
presently, 44 that you have been exceedingly well educated. 
Miss Raeburn.” 

“Iam afraid that I know very little.” 

“ You have laid a good foundation. I should be glad if my 
little girl, Molly, was likely to know as much at your age! 
Will you consent to give her some lessons and teach her as you 
yourself have been taught P’ 

“ Your daughter, Mr. Moncrieff? But she is much too old 
for me — I wanted to teach little children only,” said Stella, 
coloring up to the eyes in much confusion. 

“ She could not have a better teacher,” Mr. Moncrieff said, 
calmly. 44 She has had many disadvantages, and I should be 
glad to see her in wiser hands than mine.” 

As Stella did not speak — for she was quite too much over- 
come by the prospect before her to be able to say very much — 
Mr. Moncrieff continued, in his distinct low tones, with an oc- 
casional pause which made what he said additionally im- 
pressive. 

“.She has run wild of late years. She has no mother, no 
friend or sister to influence her. I have had governesses, 
but they have left her in despair. She will not learn, she will 
not submit, unless she has a real regard for the person set over 
her. She has taken a great fancy to you, if I may say so, 
Miss Raeburn, and with you would be, I believe, perfectly 
amenable to authority. If you would help us I should be 
grateful, indeed; almost as grateful even,” he said, with a 
sudden, flashing smile that wholly changed the character of 
his face, “ as when you gave the child your hands across the 
stones and saved her from being whirled down the river to her 
death.” 

“ If I could do anything for her, I shohld be only too glad,” 
said Stella, earnestly. The two were still standing beside the 
gate; Stella on one side, with her back to the distant view of 
Dunkeld, Moncrieff on the other, his arm resting on the top- 
most bar of the white wooden gate. 4 4 If only, ” she said, 
looking straight into her companion’s face, “ if only I did not 
fancy that you were asking this simply out of a feeling— a 
fancy — that I had rendered you some little service, and that 
you ought to repay me!” 

44 Do you think that I should sacrifice my daughter’s edu- 
cation to a fancy of that kind?” said he, looking back at her 
as straightforwardly as she had looked at him. “No, Miss 
Raeburn, I am not so unselfish. I ask you to teach my Molly, 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 65 

because I have never met any one who is likely, I think, to 
influence her more directly for good than you/’ 

44 But how can you know that?” asked Stella, simply. 

He felt tempted to answer, “ By your face;” but renounced 
the saying, feeling that he must not derogate too much from 
his dignity as Molly's father. So he replied, quite soberly, 4 4 1 
have some reason for knowing/' and proceeded to the con- 
sideration of hours and terms. He wanted a governess for 
Molly from ten to four o'clock, including an hour for exercise 
in the middle of the day, and a sufficient time for dinner. 
He proposed that Stella and her aunt should take lodgings in 
Dunkeld — there were rooms to be had not more than a mile 
and a half from Torresmuir — and he promised to send a con- 
veyance for her every morning when rain was falling, or the 
roads were heavy, and at night when the days were short or 
the weather was bad. This consideration he thought due to 
his daughter's teacher; but when he came to the question of 
pecuniary remuneration, Stella found him liberal indeed, but 
not lavish; he was guided by common sense and a wish to have 
value for his money which earned her heartfelt approbation. 
She had no wish to feel that he was paying her more than she 
was worth because she had pulled Molly out of the water below 
the Hermitage Falls. 

The two had therefore a plain, sensible, business-like little 
chat, in which Mr. Moncrieff's respect for Stella's capacities 
was increased tenfold. He left her at last with the under- 
standing that she would talk over the matter with her aunt 
Jacky, and that if Aunt Jacky did not object the new arrange- 
ment should begin as soon as the Sinclars left Dunkeld. And 
the time for their departure was drawing so near that Stella 
felt sure that she would set to work with Molly early in 
November. For Aunt Jacky never objected long to anything 
that Stella really wished. 

Mr. Moncrieff quitted her at last, and strode away down the 
lane toward the high-road once more. Here, as he trod the 
shady path, his attention was arrested by the appearance of a 
man who loitered along the road before him. This man was 
rather undersized, lean, and of a pallid complexion; as Mon- 
criefl neared him, a handsome, sallow face, with Jewish feat- 
ures and a great black mustache was suddenly turned upon 
him. 

44 Why, Ralph,” said the Utird of Torresmuir, stopping 
short, and looking in unfeigned surprise ^at his late wife's 
step-brother — a man who for many years had made Torres- 

3 


66 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


muir his home — “ I did not know that you often caine this 
way. ” 

“ 1 don't,” said Ralph Kingscott, with an easy laugh. 
“ But 1 happened to turn in this direction to-day. I don't 
know why. It is a pleasant walk.” 

He did not mention that he had been tracking Alan's steps 
all the afternoon, or that he was in a state of concealed rage 
at the bare thought that any matter of importance had been 
transacted without his help. 

“ I've been at St. Anselm's,” said Moncrieff, after a little 
pause; “ and I have engaged Miss Raeburn to teach Molly 
every day from ten to four.'' 

“ The devil you have!” exclaimed Mr. Kingscott, in his 
heart. But he did not say the words aloud. 


CHAPTER X. 

“GONE IS THE LUCK OF EDEHHALL.” 

Molly's first greeting of her new governess was rapturous. 
She was waiting in the drawing-room when'Miss Raeburn was 
announced, and she cast a demure glance at the door so as to 
be sure that her father was not immediately behind. Finding 
that he did not appear, she cast demureness to the winds, 
rushed at Stella and embraced her frantically, then danced 
round her with such evident delight that Stella was amused 
and surprised. 

“ You dear, delicious thing!” cried Molly. “ How awfully 
good it is of you to teach me! 1 never thought that anything 
half so good could ever happen. My other governesses have 
been such frightfully strict, frumpy old things !” 

“ I shall be strict too, I forewarn you,” said Stella, smiling. 

“ You couldn't!” said Molly, positively. “ With that lovely 
golden hair and those sweet blue eyes of' yours you couldn't 
know how — now would you? I am sure you will never, never 
be cross and disagreeable.” 

“ I hope not, Molly. But I shall want you to be good and 
do what I tell you,” said Stella, taking the girl's hands, and 
looking earnestly into the dancing, frolicsome dark eyes. 

“ Oh, yes. I'll be good. I've promised. Papa gave me a 
most awful lecture about you this very morning. He says if 
I’m not good with you, he'll send me away to the very strict- 
est school he can find. An<I I'm to copy you in everything, 
and try to be liknyou. That's what he said — oh, and he was 
so sorry he couldn't be here, but he had to go to Edinburgh, 
and I'm very glad!” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


67 


“ Molly, should you say that, dear?” 

“ I can't help it; 1 am very glad. Papa is so grave and so 
awful. We are all much livelier when he is out of the way. 
Even Uncle Ralph enjoys himself when papa's in Edinburgh; 
he lets Bertie off half his lessons, and goes to sleep in the 
afternoon. Will you come down to the school-room, dear 
Miss Raeburn, and shall I show you where to put your hat and 
cloak?'' 

Stella was led off by the chattering Molly, and found it 
rather difficult to induce the young lady to settle down to her 
books that forenoon. At twelve o'clock the two were to have 
gone for a walk, but a dash of heavy rain against the windows 
put walking out of the question. So Molly proposed to show 
her new friend over the house, some parts of which were very 
well worth seeing; and Stella willingly agreed to anything that 
her pupil suggested. 

'Torresmuir was partly an old and partly a new building. 
The older portion was built of thick and solid stone; the tower 
at one end was of masonry, which seemed as if it would defy 
the flight of time for centuries, so cunningly had the great 
stones been welded together. This tower was little used ex- 
cept by Mr. Ralph Kingscott, who, as Molly informed Miss 
Raeburn, occupied two rooms, one above another, in this part 
of the building. “ You see, it's very awkwardly placed,'' said 
Molly, with a learned air. “ When you leave the newer part 
of the house you go through this long gallery — a passage; it is 
only a passage, after all; then you come straight into the 
octagon room, which Uncle Ralph has made into a regular 
curiosity shop; then straight from the octagon room into his 
sitting-room, which looks out on the hill-side and down to- 
ward the Braan. This winding stair, in the little space be- 
tween the octagon room and the sitting-room, leads up to 
Uncle Ralph's bedroom, and to another room that nobody 
ever uses; and above that there is a roof where one has a most 
beautiful view— but we scarcely ever go up, because Uncle 
Ralph does not seem to care about our coming further than 
the octagon room — if so far. It is a great shame,” said 
Molly, in an aggrieved tone, 4 4 because the tower would make 
such a nice little retreat for Bertie and me. One can't hear a 
single sound from these rooms in the new part of the house. 
But Uncle Ralph keeps us out.” 

“ He has grown fond of his rooms, I dare say,” said Stella. 

“ I donft think he is very fond of anything,” Molly an- 
swered, with a curious touch of cynicism in her fresh young 
voice, 4 4 but it is convenient for him, I dare say, to be able to 


68 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


go in and out just as he likes. There is a little, door from his 
sitting-room into the garden, and papa never knows when he 
is out after midnight or not.” 

Stella thought this sort of conversation undesirable, and 
changed it by asking the names of certain curiosities which 
were ranged in glass cases on some side tables in the octagon 
ro6m. 

“ Pretty, aren’t they?” said Molly/ carelessly, as she ran 
over the names with the air of one who had often rehearsed 
them previously; “ but this is the most curious thing. Do 
you see that empty case?” 

Stella looked, and observed that a large morocco case lined 
with velvet stood empty under a glass shade. 

“There’s a story about it,” said Molly. “I remember 
when it used to hold a stone— a beautiful crystal, I believe, 
sparkling with all the colors of the rainbow. It was in the 
days before mamma died,” and a sudden shadow came over 
her merry face. 

“Was it stolen?” Stella asked, to break the pause that 
followed. 

“ That’s the odd part of it. Of course it was, but there 
was no way of finding out how or why. Just before mamma 
died it disappeared. And you have no idea what a fuss the 
old servants in the house, and even papa himself, made about 
it. It was very ridiculous!” 

“ Was it valuable?” 

“Not a bit, I believe. Only — do you remember a piece of 
poetry called 4 The Luck of Edenhall ’?” 

“ Yes; Longfellow translated it from the German.” 

“ Well, there was just such another old story about this 
stone and our family. It was said to have been brought from 
the East by one of our ancestors; and as long as it was in our 
possession we were to be lucky in every way, and when it went 
the luck was to go too. And now it has gone!” 

44 And the luck remains,” said Stella, smiling at the girl’s 
half-tragical tone. 

44 1 suppose so. But I don’t know. Nothing has gone 
right since — nothing. Of course, it has nothing to do with 
the stone; I am not so stupidly superstitious as poor old Jean, 
our nurse, used to be; but still — ever since — we have been 
unhappy — I don’t know why.” 

The tears were filling Molly’s beautiful hazel eyes. Stella 
looked sympathizingly at her, and took her hand, meaning to 
give the child some gentle advice respecting her own share in 
producing the happiness of her home, when an interruption 


69 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

occurred. The inner door of the octagon room, leading to 
the staircase, flew open, and Mr. Kingscott made his appear- 
ance. He paused, as if in surprise, at the sight of the two 
girls, and Stella, who had not seen him before, glanced in- 
quiringly at Molly. But Molly pouted, irowned, threw back 
her mop of ruddy golden hair, and did not seem inclined to 
speak. 

4 4 I must introduce myself, as my niece does not seem in- 
clined to perform the office for me,” said Ralph Kingscott, 
showing his white teeth in a smile which Stella found singu- 
larly unpleasant. 44 My name is Kingscott, Miss Raeburn — I 
think I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss Raeburn? — and 
I have the honor to be Miss Molly's uncle, as well as the tutor 
of my nephew, Bertie. Our office should bring us together. 
We must have something in common, must we not?" 

Stella only bowed; the man's manner did not attract her, 
and she felt it impossible to do anything but look serious and 
dignified. 

44 So you have been looking at our poor little curiosities?" 
said Mr. Kingscott, easily. 44 And has Molly been explaining 
to you the loss of the luck of the house?" 

44 It can't be explained," said Molly, almost rudely. 44 No- 
body knows." 

44 And nobody ever will know," said her uncle, in a mock- 
ing tone. 44 Nobody will ever know — unless the Luck of the 
House comes back again, and that will not be in your time or 
mine. 4 Gone is the luck of Edenhall,' as the poem says." 

44 1 believe you've got it!" cried Molly, so savagely that 
Stella stood aghast. 44 If you stole it and hid it away— -on 
purpose to vex papa!" She bit her lip and the tears again 
dimmed her flashing eyes. 44 You would not mind — you 
know you don't care whether things are right or wrong — I've 
heard you say so — if only they are pleasant." 

44 Molly dear, you must not speak in that way," said Stella, 
in alarm. 44 1 hope you will excuse her, Mr. Kingscott." 

Ralph Kingscott gave a short laugh and turned on his heel. 
But the momentary whitening of his lips, the keen, steel-like 
glance that he shot at Molly from out his narrow dark eye, 
showed that her shaft had, in some way or another, gone 
straight home. 44 1 can afiord to despise Molly's tempers. 
Miss Raeburn," he said as he went back to his own apart- 
ment, 44 but I don't envy you the task of encountering them." 

Boor Stella did indeed at that moment feel as if her task 
were likely to be heavier than she had anticipated. She tried 
to talk seriously, and yet gently, to her pupil about her be- 


70 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


havior, but Molly turned rather sulky at the first hint of re- 
proof, and did not recover her good humor until late in the 
afternoon. 

Mr. Moncrieff stayed for some days in Edinburgh, and Stella 
had thus no opportunity of consulting him, as she had wished 
to do, about the plan of study which Molly was to pursue. 
After the first day or two, she found the girl tolerably easy to 
manage. The great difficulty lay in the fact that, while Molly 
had the physique of a woman, she had the spirits, the thought- 
lessness, the waywardness of a child. Stella had a rather 
startling example of the difficulties which were to be encoun- 
tered in dealing with such a character soon after her introduc- 
tion to the Moncrieffs. 

It was the second Saturday after Stella’s duties had begun. 
Mr. Moncrieff was still away from home. Saturday was 4 4 a 
whole holiday;” but as the day proved still and fine, Molly 
and her brother (who was quite as much enamored of Miss 
Raeburn as was Molly herself) came to her lodgings, and 
begged that she would join them in an excursion that they 
were about to make to the Lochs of the Lowes. It seemed 
that they knew most of the owners of the mansions on the 
banks of the different lochs, and, save when the rights of 
fishing and boating were let to summer tenants of the houses, 
the young Moncrieffs had always been allowed to disport 
themselves as they pleased upon the waters. At present, 
Molly, who had met with the name of the Admirable Crichton 
in her lessons, was anxious to show Stella the very place where 
that prodigy of learning had been born; and it was with this 
laudable object in view that she at last persuaded her teacher 
to join her for the day. 

She had brought a pony-carriage to the door, and begged 
hard that Miss Jacky would come too; but Miss Jacky stoutly 
refused, on the plea that she would 44 take her death ” if she 
went out in a boat. But Stella started with her young 
friends: Molly driving and flourishing her whip in fine fash- 
ion; and Bertie lying back on the cushions, and talking in a 
lazy but intelligent way to Miss Raeburn. It was eleven 
o’clock when they set off; and Molly explained that she had 
brought luncheon, and that they would put the pony up at a 
farm-house, row out to the island, and eat their luncheon in 
the shadow of the very building where the Admirable Crichton 
had been born. Stella assented merrily enough— knowing 
little, however, of the place, and not quite prepared for.th^ 
adventure which she was expected to pass through. 

The first part of the programme was accomplished satisfai 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


71 


torily enough. The pony and carriage were left at the farm- 
house, and the trio walked up a long road and across a 
meadow, which brought them to the very edge of one of the 
prettiest of all the Lochs of the Lowes. The clear water was 
unruffled by a breeze, and reflected an expanse of cloudless 
sky; but the distant hills had the curious distinctness of out- 
line and hue generally considered to be indicative of rain. In 
the center of the clear water stood the little grassy island with 
its ruined castle, the gray walls showing a majestic front of 
still decay, in strong contrast with one's notions of- the life 
that had prevailed there centuries ago. A little boat was 
speedily hauled out of a ruinous boat-house by the children, 
and Stella was invited to step in. 

44 But surely it leaks," she said, doubtfully, looking at the 
pool in the bottom of the boat. 

4 4 Not a bit," cried Molly; 44 or, at least, so little that one 
can bail it out as we go along." 

44 Is it quite safe?" 

44 Perfectly," said Bertie. 44 It is indeed. We have often 
been in this boat before. . The farmer uses it every day. " 

It might be safe, but it was not very clean or very agreeable, 
and Stella was glad when the island was reached. Here the 
three spent a couple of hours, exploring the empty chambers 
of the ruin (how Stella thought of Balmerino!), eating their 
lunch in a sunny spot well sheltered from the wind, and cast- 
ing pebbles into the smooth waters of the loch, like children 
as they were! The only drawback to their happiness lay in 
the fact that Molly was inclined to be huffy with her brother, 
and that she turned silent and a little sulky during the latter 
part of the afternoon. 

It was proposed at last that they should go home; and then 
Miss Molly resolved to give her brother and Miss Raeburn a 
fright. She would row to the main-land alone, and pretend 
that she was going to leave them on the island; but she would 
then run down to the farm-house, take out the pony, and 
drive down to the water again — row to the island and fetch 
them back. This was her plan, and it was a comparatively 
innocent one, and Stella and Bertie, divining it, were not at 
all alarmed when th*y discovered — too late to stop her — that 
she had started off alone. 

44 It's just Molly's tempei*," said Bertie. 44 She wants to 
frighten us, silly child; but of course we shall not be fright- 
ened. She will row back or send some one else for us pres- 
ently. You aremot nervous, are you, Miss Raeburn?" 

44 Not a bit," said Stella. 


72 . THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 

But she began to feel a trifle nervous when the time passed 
on and Molly did not reappear. The sun was low, the wind 
was rising, and the air was turning cold, and still they waited 
on the island— but the boat was safely moored upon the other 
side of the loch; and Molly did not come! 


CHAPTER XI. 

OH THE ISLAND. 

Stella and her boy-companion occupied themselves for 
some time in wandering about the island, startling the birds 
from their nests, and making a collection of the scanty, half- 
nipped weeds that lingered on the southern side. Between 
four and five, however, when Molly had been gone for more 
than half an hour, Bertie began to shiver, and even Stella felt 
the cold. 

“Where can that girl be?” said the lad, impatiently at 
last. He stood still, and began to stare anxiously at the other 
side of the loch. 

“ She can not be long now,” said Stella. 

“ She ought to have been back long ago. It is just like her 
to play us such a trick. She is a dreadful spitfire.” 

“Iam afraid that we vexed her a little,” said Stella, with 
the sweet frankness that was one of her most winning qualities. 

“ We!” exclaimed Bertie, coloring up. “ I, you mean. 
Miss Raeburn, only you are too kind to say so.” He spoke 
half shyly, half impulsively, and Stella’s heart warmed to him 
as he made his admission. “ I was wrong, I know, though 
Molly is provoking, sometimes. But I’m awfully sorry 1 
vexed her, especially as she has included you in her revenge.” 
And he smiled at her with eyes so like his father’s that Stella 
was quite startled by the resemblance. “ Ugh! it's getting 
very cold,” he said, with a sudden shiver. 

“ You will catch cold; you must get inside the building,” 
said Stella, anxiously. “ There is a dry, sheltered room here; 
you should not be out in the wind. ” 

“ Thank you; I won’t go in yet,” the boy answered. “ We 
had better walk up and down and try to attract attention. 
We can be seen perfectly well from the. banks, you know, as 
long as it is light; and somebody will be sure to come to our 
rescue.” 

“Not many people seem to pass this way. ” 

“ No; and the bother of it is that the house over there is 

shut up. Miss F is away for the winter, and I dare say 

there is nobody in the place at all. The gardener or some of 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 73 

the men may be about— suppose 1 give a call? Sound travels 
a long way over water. ” 

“ Try,” said Stella; and the boy curved his hands over his 
mouth, and gave a long, shrill call, which he repeated several 
times. But his voice was weak and his energy soon exhausted; 
he remained silent at last, his cry having received no answer, 
and looked gloomily over the darkening waters and the dis- 
tant, shadowy land. 

“ It's no use,” he said, in a low tone. 4 4 They will only 
think it's an owl.'' 

“ But Molly knows where we are,” said Stella. “ She is 
sure to come back or send for us. I hope no accident has 
happened to her.” 

“Not a bit of it. It's pure spite and ill-temper. She 
wants to get us into a scrape. '' 

“ But it is not our fault that we are left here; we can easily 
explain our lateness. ” 

“I don't know,” said Bertie. His face was flushed; his 
lips began to quiver, almost like a child's. /‘It will be all 
right for you, of course; but — ” 

“ But what?” asked Stella, withdrawing him from the 
water's edge and forcing him to %alk briskly up and down 
with her. “ What makes you anxious?” She did not like to 
say afraid, although Bertie's changing color and agitated voice 
gave her the impression that he was not very courageous. 

“ Oh, nothing,” the boy began. But in a second or two his 
voice faltered again. “ It won't matter — only — papa is coming 
home to-night—” 

“ Well,” said Stella, rather sharply, “ what then?” 

“ He does not like me to be out so late,” was the halting 
and uncomfortable answer. “ And he — he does not like — the 
island.” 

“ Ho you mean that he has told you not to come here?” 

“ He spoke to Molly,” said the boy, evasively. “ He never 
said anything to me. I don't know exactly what he said. He 
thought it wasn't quite safe, but that's nonsense, of course. 
The boat's leaky, you see, and he thinks that the castle walls 
might give way some day.” 

“ If you have brought me here,” said Stella, after a little 
pause, <e knowing that he did not wish you to come, and thus 
making me act against his wishes, you will have done exceed- 
ingly wrong, Bertie, and I shall be very much displeased. ” 

“ Oh, please don't say that!” cried Bertie. “We meant to 
caution you not to say anything about it as we went home, 
but you were so good-natured that we didn't think you would 


74 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


mind, and, as Molly said, this was the last day oir which we 
could have any fun because papa was coming home. ” 

It seems to me/' said Stella, indignantly, “ that you talk 
about your father as if he were a tyrant and a jailer, instead 
of one of the kindest, most generous, most noble-hearted men 
in all the country-side. ” (How did she know that? For, 
after all, she had had only three or four interviews with Mr. 
Moncrielf in her life, so she must have made up her mind very 
speedily). 

Bertie looked at her in surprise, “ I dare say he’s all that 
— and more,” he answered, slowly; “ and it is just because he 
is so much above us that Molly and I don’t get on with him 
very well, don’t you see?” An accent of shame and pain was 
audible in the boy’s voice as he contined: “If we were a little 
better worth believing in, perhaps he would believe in us 
more.” 

The shadows had deepened around them as they walked up 
and down the grassy walk, and the wind came in cold and fit- 
ful gusts round the angles of the castle. Seeing that Bertie 
shivered a good deal — from fear, perhaps, as well as cold — 
Stella insisted upon his entering the building, where they 
would at least be sheltered from the evening breeze. The 
night had come on so rapidly that there was no further chance 
of being seen from the other side; they must depend upon 
Molly’s action, and upon the succor that she might send. 
Stella felt intensely disappointed in her pupil, and indignant 
with her and with Bertie; she was more vexed at being made 
to appear a participator in their rebellion against their father’s 
authority than concerned on her own account. Her eyes filled 
with tears as she thought of Mr. Moncrieif’s possible displeas- 
ure. He had been so kind to her — and she must needs seem 
thoughtless and ungrateful to him! Then there was the anx- 
iety to Aunt Jacky, and the exposure to cold of the delicate 
lad, Bertie, and also the naughtiness — the extreme naughtiness 
— of Molly herself; with whom, nevertheless, it was always 
difficult to find fault when- she tossed her mane of ruddy-gold 
tresses back from her face, and looked up at one with her 
mutinous, frolicsome, lovable hazel eyes! Stella felt that the 
management of a girl of fifteen was a more responsible post 
than she with her eighteen years ought ever to have attempted. 

She was leaning with her elbows on the rough frame of an 
unglazed window, looking out at the gleaming water and the 
dark distant forms of hill and wood, when she felt a touch 
upon her arm. “ Miss Raeburn, you’ll be cold,” said the boy- 
ish voice, with a slight tremor in it. “ Please put on my 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


75 


overcoat; you have only that little jacket, and you will feel 
the cold more than we do, because you've been accustomed to 
a warmer climate. " 

“ Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind/’ said Stella, and 
she would not be persuaded, although the boy tried hard to 
make her don the overcoat, of which he himself stood far more 
in need. But the kindly offer, with the shy chivalry of feel- 
ing expressed in the lad's manner, touched her; and she had 
a tenderness for Bertie ever afterward, a tenderness of which 
he was' one day to be sorely in need. 

Her spirits rose a little, and she beguiled the time by talk- 
ing, telling stories, and laughing, so as to induce Bertie to be 
cheerful. But circumstances were certainly not conducive to 
cheerfulness. The room in which they had taken refuge was 
not so damp as might have been expected, for there had been 
a continuance of tine weather for some weeks; but it was light- 
ed only by the one little arched window, at which Stella still 
kept watch; and strange, uncanny noises were heard from 
time to time, attributed by Bertie to the tribes of rats, owls, 
and other wild creatures which had made certain portions of 
the building their own. There were rooms in a tolerably good 
state of preservation, Bertie explained, but they were locked 
up, and it was only to the more ruinous parts of the castle that 
stray visitors like the Moncrieffs and their governess had ac- 
cess. 

“ I wonder how long we have been here?" he sighed at last. 
“ It must be the middle of the night! Aren't you very hun- 
gry, Miss Raeburn?" 

“ Rather. But 1 don’t think it is so late. Let us have an- 
other walk to keep ourselves warm. I wish I could see the 
time." 

But there was no moon, and the clouds had been sweeping 
up from behind the hills until even the faint light of the stars 
was obscured. They went outside and walked along the bank 
—and then Bertie stopped short and grasped Stella by the 
arm. “ I hear something," he said. And, indeed, a sound 
of voices was' borne upon the wind, and a flash of light from a 
lantern was seen upon the bank. Bertie shouted, but his voice 
was far too hoarse and feeble to be heard. And then came the 
still more welcome noises that showed the “ castaways "—as 
Stella had playfully named herself and Bertie — that a boat 
was being pushed off from the shore. Nothing to Stella had 
ever been so welcome as the sound of the oars in the rowlocks 
and the regular plash of every swift and steady stroke. 

Suddenly Bertie leaned heavily on her arm. “ Let me sit 


76 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


down,” he said, with a strange gasp; “1 — I — am — tired.” 
Then he sunk down on the grass, and when Mr. Moncrieff— 
with a rather stern look upon his handsome face — jumped 
ashore, and turned the light of a lantern upon the two discon- 
solate figures, he found that Stella Raeburn was kneeling on 
the bank, supporting with one arm the head of his son Bertie, 
whose white and death-like appearance showed that the day’s 
adventures had been too much for his delicate frame, and that 
when the strain was relaxed he had simply fainted away. 

There was no time for explanation or apology. Mr. Mon- 
crief had wisely brought a small flask of brandy, which, to tell 
the truth, he had more than half expected Stella to need; but 
although she did not require it, it was very valuable in restor- 
ing Bertie’s strength when, with a sigh and a moan, he re- 
turned to consciousness. And then came a question of transit, 
rendered more difficult than it would otherwise have been by 
Bertie’s feeble condition. 

“We canna cross a’ at once; it wadna be safe,” said the 
man in the boat — one of the farming men, as Stella heard 
afterward. 

“ I will stay,” said Stella, quickly. 

“ Alone? Certainly not,” said Mr. Moncrieff’s peremptory 
voice. “ Do you feel strong enough to wait here with me. 
Miss Raeburn, while the man takes Bertie across? 1 think in 
his present state that he must have the precedence, if you will 
excuse his going first. The farmer’s wife and Mr. Kingseott 
are on the other side; they will attend to Bertie while the boat 
comes back for us. ’ ’ 

As Stella concurred in this arrangement, Bertie was laid in 
the boat — for he did not seem strong enough to sit erect — the 
boatman pushed off, and Mr. Moncrieff and Miss Raeburn 
were left together on the lonely island in the silence and dark- 
ness of the night. 

“ I hope you are not cold,” said Moncrieff at last, more 
formally than usual. 

“No, oh, no. But oh, Mr. Moncrieff, you will think me 
so careless — so childish.” 

“ Not at all. I understand from Molly that it was entirely 
her fault.” 

“But,” said Stella, tremblingly, “if I had been wiser — 
older — it would all have been different. If 1 had known — oh, 
Mr. Moncrieff, please let me give up my situation as Molly’s 
governess; I see that I am too young — I can’t manage her — 
and she should have an older teacher — ” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE 


77 


“ What?” he said, in a much more pleasant voice, “ are 
you frightened by your first little difficulty?” 

Stella was mute. It was not the question that she had ex- 
pected. 

“ I know perfectly well that you were not to blame. You 
did not know that I objected to their visits to the island; in- 
deed, 1 do not object when a person in authority — like your- 
self! — is with them. You could not possibly help Molly’s silly 
action — which was really more silly than blameworthy, as I 
will explain to you afterward. So you see, Miss Raeburn, 
there is not the slightest reason for this proposed desertion of 
your office.” 

Stella could feel that he smiled as he turned toward her, but 
she was overwrought and unable to respond. She tried to say 
something, but in the effort to speak a sob escaped her, and 
another, and then she was obliged to cover her face with her 
hands. And this movement, in spite of the darkness, he could 


“ Tears?” he said, so softly that she would hardly have 
known the voice for that of Alan Moncrieff. “ It is not worth 
a tear. You must not cry over this matter, my dear — Miss 
Raeburn. ” The addition of the name was but too manifestly 
an after-thought. “ Why do you cry?” 

“ 1 thought,” gasped Stella, “ that you would be — so — 
angry!” 

te And are you beginning to fear me already?” he answered, 
a little bitterly. “ Oh, child, don’t do that— don’t be afraid 
of me, as my own children are. I am not so hard and severe 
as they think me, I am not indeed. The boat is almost here 
again,” he went on, with a sudden change of tone; “ it is at 
the steps. Give me your hand; I will help you in.” 

He took the girl’s hand and held it, although they had to 
wait, as it turned out, several minutes for the boat. Never- 
theless, he did not let it go. And the strong yet gentle clasp 
gave Stella an odd feeling of rest and protection; the night 
isolated her from ail the world besides, and it seemed for a 
moment as if there were no one living in the whole wide earth 
except herself and him. 


CHAPTER XII. 

ALAN MONCKIEFF’S QUESTION. 

Molly’s explanation of her extraordinary behavior may be 
given in her own words. She visited Stella on the Sunday 


78 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


morning after church, and informed her governess with great 
gravity that she had come to make an apology. 

“ Papa sent me/’ she said, frankly, “ or I should have 
waited until to-morrow, you know; but perhaps it is best for 
you to hear all about it to-day. Because I didn't leave you 
on the island on purpose — you know that, don't you, Miss Rae- 
burn?" 

“I am glad you didn't, Molly," said Stella, smiling, and 
rather evading the question. 

“ I wouldn't have left you there for anything. I meant to 
go to the farm and get the carriage out, and come back for 
you. I was slow about it, I know, because 1 was cross with 
Bertie. Besides, I met Uncle Ralph on the way, and stopped 
to talk to him — " 

“ Mr. Kingscott?" Stella said, with surprise. 

“Yes, he had been for a long walk. 1 told him where you 
were and that I was going to fetch you, and he said that he 
would not detain me, and went on. Well, just as I had got 
the man to put the pony in, a little boy came running to tell 
me that he had seen the lady at the big house (the lady who 
owns the property, you know) send out her boat for you; that 
you had gone into her house, and that she was going to send 
you home in her carriage. Well, I thought that so cool of you 
that I flew into a passion, and said to myself that I would 
drive home all by myself, and that you might come-back in 
the carriage of anybody else you pleased." 

“ But, Molly, that was not a true story." 

“No, of course it wasn't. The boy was telling lies." 

“ But why—" 

“ Oh, of course, he didn't know that it was lies. My opin- 
ion is," said Molly, tightening her lips, “ that somebody had 
told him to say so, and that somebody was Uncle Ralph. " 

“ Molly dear, don't be so absurd." 

“ I believe so," said Molly, stubbornly. “ He wanted to 
get us all into a difficulty. He hates Bertie to be out with us. 
He likes to get Bertie to come with him. I believe it was his 
revenge." 

“ How is Bertie?" said Stella, resolving not to listen to 
these statements. 

“ iffi, he has a feverish cold. He is in bed, and the doctor 
was sent for this morning. Miss Raeburn dear, you don't 
think that I would be so horrid, so disagreeable and naughty, 
as to play you such a trick on purpose? Indeed " — and 
Molly's arms were suddenly thrown round Stella's neck — “ in- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 79 

deed, I do love you, and want to be a good girl. Won't you 
forgive me?" 

Of course Stella forgave her on the spot, and was relieved 
to feel that she might do so with a good conscience. The 
mystery of the boy's report of her doings was impossible to 
solve at present, and she wisely counseled Molly to put it by 
as a thing which time would probably make clear. She found 
that Mr. Moncrieff had been angry, but less angry on his re- 
turn from the island than before. When he first learned from 
Molly what had occurred — Bertie's continued absence and in- 
quiries at Miss Jacky's, leading every one to infer that the two 
were still upon the island, subject to all the discomforts of cold 
and darkness — Mr. Moncrieff had indeed been much displeased. 
“ I thought he would have boxed my ears!" said Molly. 
“ But he didn't — he never has done such a thing, so I don't 
suppose that he will begin! But he looked so angry! And 
he was angrier than ever after something that Uncle Ralph 
said to him." 

Stella stopped the recital of Mr. Kingscott's sayings very 
decidedly. But what had been said transpired afterward, 
much to her annoyance. 

Ralph Kingscott had uttered a low, derisive laugh when 
Molly faced her father and told her story. “ What are you 
laughing at?" Mr. Moncrieff had said. 

“1 am laughing," Kingscott answered, “at the unneces- 
sary trouble which you are giving yourself. Drive back, row 
over to the island, rescue the castaways, of course, without 
delay. But be careful that you don't arrive too soon. ' ' 

“I shall be obliged to you if you will express yourself a lit- 
tle more clearly. " 

“ My dear Alan, don't look so tremendously high and 
mighty. Do you forget that your son and your very pretty 
little governess are almost exactly the same age? I always 
thought that you had done a shockingly imprudent thing, you 
know!" 

“ Do you mean to imply — " 

“I imply nothing," Ralph Kingscott said, provokingly. 
“ Not even that it was what the Americans call 4 a put-up 
job,' and that the two are at present chuckling over Molly's 
simplicity, and vowing eternal constancy beneath the moon! 
I should leave them there till midnight if 1 were you, and give 
them a thorough fright. " 

But, according to Molly's account, which did not reach 
Stella's ears till some days later, Mr. Moncrieff had per- 


80 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


emptorily silenced his brother-in-law, and had at once ordered 
the carriage for his rescue expedition to the loch. 

Certainly no trace of any suspicion of the kind indicated by 
Mr. Kingscott's words was visible in Alan Moncrieff's de- 
meanor to the young stranger who sojourned daily for a few 
hours under his roof. He was uniformly kind and considerate 
to her; he evidently trusted her completely. Bertie, although 
of Stella's age by years, was such a child compared to her, 
that Ealph Kingscott's insinuation fell to the ground almost 
unheeded. Almost — not quite unheeded. For there was a 
fund of jealousy and suspiciousness in Alan Moncrieff's nat- 
ure which had been fostered by certain circumstances of his 
past life; and without his being as yet aware of it, distrust of 
all-round him was rapidly becoming the mainspring of his 
life. It was this distrust which really alienated him from his 
children, as (report said) it had alienated him from his 
wife. 

But this latent fault in his character was not visible to 
Stella. To her he was ever gracious and kindly, treating her 
with a confidence which her steady and patient work with 
Molly certainly justified. And the experience of the island 
sobered Molly considerably, and made her very submissive and 
loving to Stella, who had quite won her heart. A sharp at- 
tack of cold and fever prostrated Bertie for weeks afterward, 
and it became natural for Stella to see a good deal of him, as, 
during his convalescence, he used to come to the school-room, 
and lie on a broad old-fashioned sofa near the fire, listening 
while Molly's lessons proceeded, or when Stella read aloud. 
Sometimes Mr. Moncrieff looked in on those occasions, and 
seemed always glad to find Bertie “ in such good company." 
The only person in the house with whom Stella could not feel 
friendly and at her ease was Ealph Kingscott. She was cer- 
tain that he had a peculiar spite against her, for he never lost 
an o]3port unity of catching up and exaggerating any little mis- 
take that she might make in his hearing, and of setting her 
actions in the worst possible light (at least, if accounts given 
by Molly .and Bertie could be trusted), and also, she was sure 
that he had a bad influence over Bertie. The boy, less cau- 
tious in Stella's presence than in that of his father, let fall 
phrases which showed that something underhand was going 
on; that he went to places and had companions of which his 
father would not approve; that his uncle connived at, if he 
did not encourage, these proceedings. These facts troubled 
Stella; she did not like to act the part of a spy, or a tale- 
bearer, but she could not help thinking that Mr. Moncrieff 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


81 


ought to have some notion imparted to him as to what was 
going on. 

Meanwhile the winter passed away and was succeeded by a 
bleak and biting spring. In March, Mr. Moncrieff went to 
London. His absence made little difference to the household. 
Stella fancied, however, that Bertie was degenerating in mind 
and feeling, and she made up her mind that she ought to 
speak to Mr. Moncrieff about him as soon as he returned. 
And yet she was terribly afraid that he would think such 
speech presumptuous. 

She did not find an opportunity for some time, however. 
Mr. Moncrieff paid a flying visit to his home in June, and then 
it was chiefly in order to arrange that Miss Jacky and Stella 
should take Molly to the sea-side for a little change of air 
during the month of J uly. He said that she had been grow- 
ing fast, and required a change; perhaps he also had an eye to 
Stella’s rather delicate appearance, and wanted her to have 
the benefit of sea-breezes. At any rate, he persuaded Miss 
Jacky to agree to his plan, and commissioned her to find suit- 
able lodgings at St. Andrews at his expense; and then he van- 
ished as suddenly as he had come, taking Bertie away with 
him, and leaving Mr. Kingscott free to follow his own devices. 

So it chanced that on one lovely day in J uly, Stella was 
seated in a shady nook of the castle at St. Andrews, with a 
book in her hand, while Miss Jacky and Molly had gone to the 
bathing-place, where Molly was (presumably) disporting her- 
self in 44 the Ladies’ Pool.” Stella was seated in a window 
recess of the old gray wall; the book, as we said, was in her 
hand, but her eyes had strayed from it to the great expanse 
of blue water, flashing and glittering in the sunlight, breaking 
with long murmurous rolls over the rocks below, a never-end- 
ing source of beauty and mystery, of sorrow and of joy. As 
Stella watched it, she was conscious of the awe, solemn and 
yet tender, which the sight of Nature in its grandest forms 
often produces in us; a feeling of the limitations and narrow- 
ness and weakness of human life in presence of the Eternal. 
Her own sorrows seemed to die away in the consciousness of a 
greater life enveloping her own. She w T as experiencing one of 
thbse moments of true vision in which the plan of our whole 
life seems clear to us, our path of duty perfectly distinct, 
when we feel it impossible that we shall ever turn aside to the 
right hand or to the left; that all our days will ever afterward 
by hallowed by the remembrance of that gracious hour. Such 
moments come to us too seldom; but they are full of blessing 
when they come. 


8 2 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Ancl in this mood she was found by Alan Moncrieff. 

She did not notice his approach until he was close to her, 
and then she started and half rose. He lifted his hat smiling- 
ly, and asked her to sit down again. “ You have chosen a 
lovely spot,” he said, looking through the window in the wall 
to the mingling blue of sea and sky beyond. 

“ I was to stay here until Aunt Jacky and Molly came back 
to me,” she said, coloring a little as she spoke. 

He leaned against, the old gray wall at her side and looked 
down at her. 44 Is Molly a good girl?” he asked, a smile 
curving his lip beneath his dark mustache. 

44 Very good indeed.” 

How handsome he was! she thought as he stood there, his 
face a little tanned after his Swiss tour, with a new light in his 
brown eyes, and strength and energy in every limb. No 
youth, certainly; but a vigorous man, full of manliness and 
purpose. She had never seen a man in whom she had found 
more to admire. John Hannington? Ah! the name had 
almost lost its power to wound; John Hannington was com- 
monplace beside Alan Moncrieff. 

44 How is Bertie?” she said, forcing herself to speak. 

44 Better, thank you. And I hope — I trust — that he is los- 
ing his fear of me.” 

She was surprised to hear him speak so plainly. 44 It is un- 
reasonable of him to feel fear of you,” she exclaimed. 

Mr. Moncrieff smiled as if well pleased. 44 You would not 
feel it, would you?” he said, and then caught himself up and 
weut on in a different tone. 44 He tells me that you have 
lectured him on the subject. Perhaps it is not fair to repeat 
all that he has said. But, at any rate, he has made me sure 
of one thing : that I need an interpreter to stand between me 
and my children. They have no mother; and they need the 
gentle guidance of a woman’s hand. Therefore, after long- 
consideration — for I do not wish you to suppose that 1 am 
speaking rashly or on the impulse of the moment — I have 
come to St. Andrews to-day, Miss Raeburn, with one purpose 
— one only — in my mind; and that is, to ask you a question, 
or rather to make a request. Will you — some day — honor me 
so far as to become my wife?” t 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A COMPACT. 

Foe the moment Stella doubted whether or not she had heard 
aright. Sea, sky, castle, and fair greensward, all swam be- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


83 


fore her eyes. The color mounted to her forehead, and then 
receded, leaving her very pale. But she showed no other sign 
of emotion. Her hands, crossed over the book on her lap, did 
not tremble; her whole form was very still. 

“ I see that 1 have startled you/-’ said Mr. Moncrieff, gently 
— he judged so from his general knowledge of women rather 
than from Stella's demeanor; “ but I hope that you will con- 
sider my proposition seriously, and give me an -answer when 
you can." 

“It is so sudden — I was not prepared for anything of the 
kind," faltered Stella, finding Voice at last. 

“Is it too sudden? I have thought of it for some time," 
said her suitor, laying his hand softly on hers and possessing 
himself of the delicate fingers as he spoke. “ Is it so very hard 
to answer, Stella?" 

The utterance of her name was an experiment. He was not 
sure whether she would resent it or not. But she sat perfectly 
still. 

“You are, I think, fond of the children," he went on after 
a few moments' silence. “ You know my difficulties in guid- 
ing them — even in understanding them. You have a greater 
influence over Molly than any one I ever knew. You may be 
of incalculable use to her. I put this view of the question be- 
fore you because 1 know that with you the prospect of doing 
good to others is the greatest inducement that I can offer. 
But there are, perhaps, other things that 1 should mention. 
Your aunt, whom you love so dearly, shall henceforth be kept 
from all anxiety and care; she shall be to me like a kinswoman 
of my own — if you will consent to be my wife. And you shall 
have every pleasure — every advantage — that my position en- 
ables me to offer you. As my wife, as mistress of Torres- 
muir, I think that you would have no cause to regret your 
choice. " 

Stella felt, though somewhat vaguely, the coldness, the 
practical matter-of-factness of his tone. She turned her face 
away to the shining sea and the purple heaven as she replied : 

“ Those advantages are not the things that attract me." 

Moncrieff started and seemed to reflect. 

“ No," he said at last, in a tone that showed him to be 
moved. “ You are not like other women. The way to at- 
tract you is, I believe to show you the difficulties, the re- 
sponsibilities of a position, and then to ask you to assume the 
one and surmount the other. Well, if that is the case, I have 
plenty of these tp offer you. I am a busy man, obliged to be 
much away from home : I ask you to take my place when I am 


84 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


absent, to be a friend and helper to mj unruly boy and girl, 
to entertain my guests and be my almoner to the poor. Will 
that suit your notions of duty, and will you undertake the 
task?” He was smiling a little, and she felt once more that 
vague sense of dissatisfaction — she knew not why. She kept 
silence: her delicate eyebrows knitting themselves into a very 
slight frown above her eyes. She was not angry, but she was 
puzzled and distressed. 

Alan watched her, and a new expression crossed his face. 
“I had forgotten,” he said, almost haughtily, “that some 
one may have a prior claim. Is there any one— any one else?” 

“ Any one else?” said Stella, lifting her eyes to his. She 
really did not quite understand what he meant to say. “ Are 
you engaged to any other man?” 

“Oh, no.” 

The simple negative quite satisfied him. But he put another 
question for form's sake. “ There is no one else, I mean, 
whom you — you — prefer?” He had a difficulty in choosing 
the right form of expression. 

“No,” said Stella, quietly, and this was true. 

“ Then, may I hope that you will be my wife?” 

There was a little struggle with herself, and the tears came 
into her eyes. “ I don't know what to say, Mr. Monerieff. 
Are you sure that you think it best?” she safd, with the naive 
earnestness which he had often thought so charming. “ I am 
so young and inexperienced that I feel afraid. ” 

“ If that is all, 1 can not consider it a very serious objec- 
tion,” he answered, without a smile. “Do you not trust 
me?” 


“ Oh, yes, 1 trust you.” 

“ Then you will be my wife?” 

She held out her hand to him. “ If you wish it,” she re- 
plied. 

It was perhaps rather an odd wooing. And when he had 
bent his lips to the little hand that she had given him, and 
the compact was ratified by the kiss, Stella felt a rush of com- 
punction, of dread, of insecurity. What had she done? Had 
she not given her consent too readily to the most momentous 
step in life that a woman can ever take? What did she know 
of Alan Monerieff, and how could she believe that he cared for 
her? 

But then, she told herself positively, there was no pretense 
of “ caring ” on either side. He had not said one word of 
love; he had not asked for her affection. He had asked her 
to perform certain duties at his side : that was all. She honestly 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


85 


believed that she could do these duties — that she could be of 
more help to Molly and Bertie as their father’s wife than in 
her present position. And she wanted to help them. She was 
fond of Bertie: she had grown to love Molly with all her heart. 
It was surely right to take upon herself the duty that was 
offered to her: to do her best for the man who would be her 
husband, for the boy and girl whom she could also count as 
hers. She did not feel as if the task would be without its 
charm. 

But she did not love him, she went on to say to herself. 
She admired and respected him; and surely that was enough. 
If her heart had never been won before, she might have looked 
for passionate affection in her lover; now she was only too glad 
to feel that he neither gave nor required any such thing. She 
was tired of the very name of love. John Hannington had 
won it from her once and flung it cruelly" away; she had none 
now to give. Honestly believing, as young people do . some- 
times believe, that she had loved once and forever, it seemed 
a fair bargain to her to give her hand to a man whose heart 
was, presumably, buried in a grave, and who asked her only 
for help and service in a prosaic, matter-of-fact, but kind and 
even fatherly way. That was Stella’s view of the question, 
and she gave little thought to the possibility that marriage 
would bring her either great happiness or great misery. 

Meanwhile, Mr. Moncrieff looked at her, and thought of the 
poem that he had once or twice quoted when her sweet tran- 
quillity was before him: 

‘ Her eyes were stiller than the depth 
Of summer skies at even.” 

But when he spoke aloud, only prosaic words came forth. 

“ How soon shall you be ready for our marriage, Stella?” 

She started and colored. “ Oh, not yet,” she murmured, 
rather nervously. 

“ I hope that it will not be very long before I can call you 
my property,” said Moncrieff, rather lightly, but with a sud- 
den softening of his stern, dark face. ‘ 4 1 have heard you say 
that you wanted to see Staffa: we might go there before the 
season closes.” 

But Stella gave him such a look of mingled surprise and 
dismay that he smiled and resolved to bide his time. More 
could not be said just then, for Miss Jacky and Molly were seen 
approaching, and in their astonishment at Mr. Moncrieff ’s ap- 
pearance, Stella’s flushed face and drooping eyelids passed 
unnoticed. 


86 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Molly’s lively tongue was, as usual, hushed in her father’s 
presence, and she soon seized an opportunity of drawing Stella 
away from his side, and leaving him to the companionship of 
Miss Jacky. He walked with them to their lodgings, and then 
bade them farewell, saying that he would return in the even- 
ing. And Stella found that he had made good use of his 
time, for, as soon as Molly could be shaken off. Miss Jacky 
seized her niece impulsively, and gave her a kiss of congratu- 
lation. 

“ And what’s this I hear, Stella?” she said, her very bonnet 
nodding with mingled delight and agitation! “ Mr. Moncrieff 
of Torresmuir, that has been everywhere and seen everything, 
to take up with a wee lassie like you! Well, wonders will 
never cease. You to be mistress of his house, and one of the 
greatest ladies in the country-side! It’s a proud man your 
father would have been, lassie, if he had lived to see the day! 
And do ye mind him saying that he meant to see you a duchess 
yet? Why, Moncrieff’s as rich as many a duke, I believe, and 
a far grander-looking man than any 1 ever saw; and ye may 
well be proud of your conquest, Stella, my bairn!” 

“Proud?” said Stella, smiling a little. “1 think 1 am 
more perplexed than proud, Aunt Jacky. Do you think I am 
right?” 

“If ye love the man, ye’re right to marry him, be he lord 
or beggar,” said Aunt Jacky, stoutly. 

“ But if you don’t love him?” 

“ Ye’re not thinking of marrying without love, are you, 
my dear? That’s just an awful thing to do, it seems to me.” 

Stella stood silent for a moment. Her color varied, and her 
lips trembled as she replied: 

“ But— if I do not love him, I respect him, 1 admire him, 1 
like him. Is that not enough? He has asked me to help him; 
and I want of all things to be a help and a comfort to him. 
Oh, auntie, do not tell me that I am doing wrong.” 

“ But have you not considered, my dear, what a frightful 
thing it would be if you met somebody, some day, that you 
liked better than your husband? And if you don’t love him, 
it seems to me just a possibility,” said Miss Jacky, quite simply 
and solemnly, her eyes growing large with horror as she ut- 
tered her little warning. But, to her great surprise, Stella 
met it with a burst of tears. 

“Oh, Aunt Jacky, I shall never, never do that! 1 shall 
never love anybody — 1 shall never be loved myself, ” sobbed 
the poor child on her aunt’s shoulder, as Miss Jacky hastened 
to console her. The old lady scarcely heard, and certainly did 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


87 


not understand, the words, but she saw that her beloved Stella 
was in trouble, and she at once forgot everything but her love 
for her brother's daughter and her desire that she should be 


ha y. 



Mr. Moncrieff came to the house from his hotel that even- 
ing, and pressed the scheme of a very speedy marriage upon 
his betrothed with some assiduity. And, indeed, as he said, 
what was the use of waiting? If Stella had promised to marry 
him at all, she might as well marry him at once. And Stella, 
after that first protest, and in spite of some inward shrinking, 
was persuaded to agree with him. With her limited means 
there could be little question about wedding finery. Then it 
would be a pity to deprive Alan of his autumn holiday, and he 
told her plainly that he would not go away from Dunkeld 
without her, and that it would be much more convenient for 
him if she would become his wife with as little delay as possi- 
ble. Stella was far too reasonable to oppose his will. 

She wondered very much how Molly and Bertie would take 
the news, which Mr. Moncrieff insisted on telling them almost 
immediately. The result was unlooked for. Bertie seemed 
pleased by it in a shy and diffident sort of way; he wrote a 
letter expressive of great content with the new arrangement; 
but Molly, who had hitherto seemed so fond of Stella, raged 
and stormed for a day or two, and then fell into an aggrieved 
and injured frame of mind, which distressed Stella inexpressi- 
bly. Molly was sixteen now, and felt it very hard to have a 
step-mother only three years older than herself set over her 
head; for shq had begun to' dream of the delight of being 
mistress of the house, of going very soon into society and 
assuming all the importance which would attach to the 
dadghter of the master of Torresmuir. Now she felt that 
she would have to resign herself to obscurity and submissive- 
ness for some time longer; and she did not relish the prospect. 

The marriage was celebrated early in August; and then the 
bride and bridegroom departed on their wedding- tour. Molly 
was left with friends to pay several visits while her father was 
away; and Bertie and his uncle had some shooting in the 
Highlands. It was late in September before Alan Moncrieff 
brought his youn^ wife home to Torresmuir. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE HONEY-MOON 

Stella had sometimes wondered at the fear entertained by 
Molly of Mr. Moncrieff, but during the days of her engage- 


88 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


ment and of her early married life she was fain to confess that 
the fear was justifiable. Alan Moncrieff was a grave man, 
whose manner was apt to be cold and austere; his will was 
strong, his judgments, fouuded on a very high ideal of con- 
duct, occasionally seemed to her harsh and inflexible. There 
were certain sins and vices which he never condoned. Deceit 
of any kind was in his eyes unpardonable; cowardice incom- 
prehensible as well. He did not boast of his inability to for- 
give, as a weak man would have done; he was, perhaps, hardly 
aware of the force with which this characteristic struck an 
observer; but Stella could not help feeling that she should be 
sorry to incur his displeasure, and that she sympathized a 
little with his children's awe of him. His manner was so 
courteous, and he was so uniformly calm and kind and gentle, 
that she did not all at once discover the iron hand beneath the 
Velvet glove, and even when she found it out she could not 
find it in her heart to like him the less, although she might 
fear him the more for it. 

Her honey-moon was, however, a very enjoyable time to her. 
It might have astonished Molly to see how far her father could 
unbend when he chose to do so, how seldom the melancholy 
shades crossed his brow, and how ready was his smile, when he 
was with Stella. He took great pleasure in showing her fine 
scenery, old buildings, and interesting relics of antiquity; and, 
finding her a very intelligent listener, he developed a flow of 
talk of which nobody at his own home would have deemed him 
capable. Indeed, he was at his best when alone with his young 
wife; and, although she was not a person of demonstrative 
high spirits, her quiet serenity seemed to make him more 
cheerful every day. Stella long retained the memory of pleas- 
ant drives over the hills, of charming strolls, in garden or 
forest or busy street, of boating expeditions and a perfect 
week of lovely weather in the Hebrides; also of a couple of 
clays at Oban which followed— days of sunshine and laughter 
and enjoyment such as she had seldom known. Alan Mon- 
crieff certainly seemed to think that he could not do enough 
for her. He bought her dresses and jewelry and presents of 
all kinds, until she was obliged to entreat him to stop, de- 
claring that she felt like a doll that a child was decorating. 
At which he laughed, and declared that all the decorations in 
the world could not make her prettier than she was already — a 
speech which sounded delightfully odd and out of character 
from Alan Moncrieff' s grave lips. He had gone back ten 
years, it seemed to Stella, and made himself young and gay, 
to be a companion to her youth. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


89 


The last day of the bright, brief honey-moon came at last. 

“ We go back to-morrow, Stella/" said her husband, as they 
sat on the beach at Oban, and looked at the motley groups of 
people who were strolling about before them. “ Shall you be 
sorry?"" 

“Yes/" said Stella, quite frankly, “ for some things; but I 
shall be glad to see Molly and Bertie and Aunt Jacky again."" 
She was giving her attention to a poodle belonging to a party 
of ladies on a bench near the one where she sat; the dog was 
a ridiculous creature with shaven haunches, frills, and a tufted 
tail tied with blue ribbon; he wore a silver collar and brace- 
lets, and sat up and begged when one looked at him. Stella 
threw him a morsel of biscuit; she had macaroons in her 
pocket. 

“ Would you like a dog of this kind?"" asked Mr. Moncrieff. 

“No, thank you; he is too artificial for my taste. 1 don"t 
want a dog of society: I want a country dog, a colly or a deer- 
hound. But what a funny creature a poodle is, Alan! Do 
you think Molly would like one?"" 

“ Molly would scorn it, 1 am afraid."" 

Stella threw another morsel of macaroon. “ I suppose so. 
Did you get her the brooch we saw this morning?"" 

“ Yes, and one for you, something like it."" 

“ You are much too generous, Alan."" 

Moncrieff laughed. “ Not much generosity in buying a 
twopenny-halfpenny thing of that kind, is there? You liked 
it, that was my reason."" 

“ You are very kind/" said Stella, altering her word. 

“ Don"t you really care for ornaments, Stella?"" 

“Yes/" she said, looking round at him with a smile. “ I 
like them very much, but I can do without them."" 

“ Ah — some women can"t,"" he auswered, dryly. 

“ They must be poor creatures, then. Moliy and I will be 
more sensible. I have no more biscuit, Mr. Poodle; shake a 
paw and say good-morning. Do let us walk on, Alan, if you 
do not mind— this dog is begging for more, and I have nothing 
to give him."" 

Her husband laughed and rose. “ Come then/" he said. 
“ I shall be glad to walk. I am a little tired of this din and 
glare and glitter."" 

“ Oh, why did you not tell me so/" said Stella, rather re- 
proachfully, as she put up her dainty parasol and walked by 
his side. “ 1 thought that you were liking it so much, and I 
never care for crowds of fashionable people, and bands and 
sea-side amusements.” 


90 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


44 I suppose we were each trying to please the other. It is 
a mistake to sacrifice one's own individuality for the supposed 
taste of another person/' said Alan, a little bit dogmatically. 

Stella looked up at him with some amusement in the blue 
eyes that gleamed so brightly beneath her pretty shade hat, 
but did not speak. 44 What is it?" he asked, glancing at her 
with an answering smile. 44 I believe, you little witch, that 
you don't believe me capable of sacrificing my individuality 
for anybody's taste — is that it?" 

‘ £ You are capable of it, no doubt," said Stella, demurely, 
44 but— it is not easy to you, is it, Alan?" 

She meant only to tease him a little, with that new sparkle 
of fun which circumstances were developing in her, but she 
was surprised to see that he took the remark seriously. 

44 I am very selfish," he said, with a half sigh, 44 but I did 
hope — I had been trying — that you should not suffer by my 
selfishness, my dear." 

44 Oh, Alan, you can not think that 1 meant that. Why, 
you have been kindness and generosity itself! I was only 
jesting — I only meant that your strong individuality was hard 
to disguise; I had no critical intentions at all,'' and Stella 
smiled at him very sweetly, but with a little look of anxiety in 
her blue eyes. 

They had got beyond the crowd by this time, and reached a 
quiet and unfrequented p&rt of the beach, where nothing but 
sand and sea lay before them, and where they could talk with- 
out fear of disturbance. Alan answered, gravely still: 

4 4 You make great allowance for me, Stella; I can see that 
you are not difficult to please. But I know well enough that 
I am morose and selfish and unattractive, and 1 must not let 
you sacrifice yo,ur youth and brightness to me." 

44 Why should you?" said Stella, with a sunny look. 44 1 
have seldom— never, I think — had so bright and happy a 
time as I have had — lately." He took her hand in his, as 
they walked along the sea-shore together. 44 Is that true, 
Stella? Lately — since our marriage, you mean, dear?" 

44 Yes, Alan." 

He clasped her hand still more firmly. 44 Thank God!" he 
said, with a quick sigh. 4 4 1 was afraid I had done wrong — 
afraid that you would not be happy with me after all." 

Something rose in Stella's throat and choked her words. 
They stood still for a few moments, looking at the sea, over 
which the sun was beginning to set in the mist of crimson and 
gold. She wished that Alan knew — without her having to 
tell him — how sure she felt of her future happiness. He re- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 01 

linquished her hand at last, and looked down at her with a 
tender smile. 

4 4 1 think I must have been mistaken,” he said. 44 I think 
you seem content, Stella? Child, if you want to be happy, 
remember one thing — you must be frank and open; there 
must be no concealments, no half truths — but why should 1 
say this? You are truth and candor incarnate; I have never 
seen a shadow of insincerity upon your face. It is the char- 
acteristic that I love best of any in the world.” 

44 And I, too,” said Stella, in a low voice. 

“ Yes, and that was what drew me toward you, Stella. 
Your candor and truthfulness will be, I trust, the saving of 
my poor Molly.” Stella shrunk a little as he uttered his 
daughter’s name. It was for Molly’s sake, then, most of all, 
that he prized her? Mr. Moncrieff went on, unconscious of 
the storm that he was raising in her heart. 44 Molly — you 
must have found it out for yourself — is not always perfectly 
frank. It is perhaps not her fault altogether, poor child. 
He hesitated for a few moments and then continued, in a 
much lower tone, and without looking at Stella: 44 1 some- 
times fear that she has inherited a tendency — an unfortunate 
tendency— I believe myself, that even hereditary tendencies 
are curable, but the task of curing them is always more diffi- 
cult, and it is rigl^t that you should know — ” Again he 
stopped, having involved himself in a sentence of which he 
could not see the end. 

44 Inherited?” said Stella— for once, somewhat thought- 
lessly. 44 But you are truthful enough; she could not have 
inherited it from you.” 

44 From her mother,” he answered, shortly and sternly. It 
was the first time he had spoken to Stella of his first wife. 
44 1 feel it my duty to tell you — to caution you. Otherwise I 
should not have spoken.” 

44 1 beg your pardon,” said Stella, involuntarily, 44 1 did not 
mean to ask — ” 

44 You were right to ask. You ought to know. Molly is 
like her mother, in face, form, and feature. In character, 
perhaps. It sounds a hard thing to say; but I think I would 
rather see her in her grave than— in some respects— as her 
mother was. ” 

He spoke very bitterly, with his eyes fixed on the ground, 
and a dark look coming over his face. 

44 For a long time,” he said, presently, without looking up, 
44 1 thought that all women were like her, and I avoided them 
— till 1 met you. I was wrong— 1 believe that I was wrong; 


92 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


and perhaps I judged her harshly. 1 do not wish to condemn 
lightly; but I ask you, I beg of you, to guard Molly, to watch 
over her, to take care lest she should yield to any temptation 
to deceit and levity and folly. I commit her to your hands; 
do what you can for her. Heaven knows that I would not 
have said a word to throw blame on the dead if it were not for 
Molly's sake— so that you may see how needful it is to watch 
her more carefully, and guard her more entirely than other 
girls. " 

The thought flashed through Stella's mind that he had not 
hitherto been very wise in his methods of guarding and guiding 
his children, but she repressed it as a disloyalty. 

“ I do not think that Molly is untruthful," she said, in a 
low voice. 

“ She is careless about the truth," said Mr. Moncrieff, with 
a sigh; “ 1 will say nothing worse of her. And Bertie, too, I 
fear " 

“ Do you think," said Stella, diffidently, “ that Mr. Kings- 
cott's influence over Bertie is altogether good?" 

He turned to her with a start and a vexed contraction of his 
brows. 

“ Ralph Kingscott! Why, my dear child, Ralph is the 
most harmless fellow iu the world! You don't object to his 
presence at Torresmuir, surely?" ✓ 

Stella fancied that it would be very little use if she did. 

“He has done everything possible for the boy's welfare," 
proceeded her husband, in a somewhat annoyed tone. “ Borne 
with him, taught him, cared for him, like an elder brother, as 
few men of his age and standing would have done. I have the 
greatest confidence in Ralph Kingscott, and I hope, dear 
Stella, that you will try to be friendly with him when we 
reach Torresmuir. " 

“I will try," she answered, gently. She wished that he 
had said — “ when we reach home ." 

They were both a little silent after this. It almost seemed 
to Stella as if some shadow had fallen across her sunshine, 
some cold breath of air had stolen across the warmth of her 
hopes. But as they turned, before re-entering their hotel, to 
watch the glimmering lights and the crimson reflections of the 
sunset sky upon the sea, she felt her husband's hand touch her 
arm, and draw her closer to his side. 

“ You see that star?" he said, in the caressing voice that 
was already as music in her ears. “ You see how large and 
bright it is? I am beginning to grow old; it will soon be the 
evening of life with me; and you, Stella, you are the star that 


THE LUCK; OF THE HOUSE. 


93 


lights the coming darkness, and gives a radiance to the night. 
1 fancy, sometimes, dear, that you will bring me back all my 
old light and joy, and that the happiness of Torresmuir will 
return to it with you — that we shall find in you the luck— or 
the Gluck , as the Germans would call it — the good fortune, 
the happiness — of the house !" 

And yet — it was an odd thing, when one came to think of 
it— Stella remembered afterward that he had never once told 
her that he loved her! 


CHAPTER XV. 

STELLA'S HOME-COMING. 

Two gentlemen were sitting in a small private parlor at the 
Birnam Arms. They were both pale and both dark: other- 
wise there was not much resemblance between them. One was 
somewhat effeminate in appearance; the other was tall, 
sinewy, and vigorous-looking — little altered from the man to 
whom Stella Raeburn had once given her maiden heart. John 
Hannington was bronzed by some weeks' shooting and fishing 
in the Highlands, and was, if anything, rather handsomer 
than in the days when he wooed Stella under the ruined arches 
of Balmerino, but his face had not improved in expression. It 
was more cynical, more discontented, more defiant, than it 
had been even a year ago. Life had not been going altogether 
well with him since then. 

His companion, Ralph Kingscott, was leaning back in a 
large arm-chair, with a cigar between his lips. His small 
features were lighted up with an expression of the keenest 
amusement. 

“So she had a little love affair before she came to Dun- 
keld!" he was exclaiming. “ This is most interesting. I 
thought she looked too innocent for this wicked world!" 

“ She's innocent enough," Hannington was beginning 
sulkily, but Kingscott interrupted him with his mocking 
laugh. 

“ Oh, she's a lily, a snowflake, a pearl — we all know that; 
Moncrieff's besotted on her baby face already. She's just the 
style he's likely to go mad about — fair, gentle, blue-eyed, 
golden-haired, and all the rest of it — as great a contrast to his 
first wife as could possibly be imagined. " 

“ What was the first Mrs. Moncrieff like, then?" 

“ She was my half-sister, you know. Well, she was like 
Molly, only there was a little more red in her hair and the tint 
of her eye. She was fair; of course you will say that consti- 


94 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


tutes a likeness to the present Mrs. Moncrieff, but the two 
women were not alike a bit. Molly is not like the fair Stella, 
for instance.” 

“ She is ten times handsomer,” said John Hannington. 

“ I think so; Moncrieff doesn’t,” said Kingscott, quietly. 
“She was a woman with a temper, as wild and skittish a 
creature as you ’ever met; a demon of a tongue, and no 
capacity for restraining it — or herself. Molly’s a spitfire, but 
she is not equal to her mother.” 

“ You give your sister a nice character.” 

“ Half-sister, if you please. It makes all the difference. 
Marie and I had different mothers; there was Basque blood in 
hers. 1 don’t know how she would have lived with Moncrieff 
as long as she did if I had not been there ,to calm the two 
down when they had their little disputes. That I managed 
well, you may conclude from the fact that I have had free 
quarters at Torresmuir ever since. I am supposed to do some- 
thing in the way of bear leading; but my cub will soon go to 
Cambridge, I believe, and the question will then be whether I 
am to remain or not. ” 

“The new Mrs. Moncrieff will have something to say to 
that, I imagine,” said Hannington, dryly. 

“Yes — confound her. ” He looked as if he would like to 
use a stronger word. 

“ JDoes she like you much?” — Hannington’s tone was mali- 
cious. 

“ Hates me like poison, 1 believe. No. I suppose I shall 
have to go, bag and baggage, and make myself comfortable 
somewhere else. Not at once; she’ll hardly have made her 
footing sure enough, or 1 should have had notice before now; 
but in six months or so, if nothing destroys her influence in 
the meantime.” 

“ What would destroy her influence?” 

“ Well — I have an idea or two.” 

“ Let’s hear them.” 

“ Are you on my side, Hannington? The girl behaved 
shabbily to you, you say — ” 

“Cut me in the presence of half a dozen of my friends. 
Yes, she made it rather awkward for me. You know Lady 
Valencia Gilderoy? — an old friend of mine. She made up her 
mind that 1 had given the girl good cause for offense, and has 
turned the cold shoulder to me ever since — done me a good 
deal of mischief, I can tell you!” 

“Oh, nobody minds Lady Val; I know her,” said Kings- 
cott, with apparent carelessness, although he kept a Very 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


95 


watchful eye upon his friend. “ Still, Miss Stella must be a 
spiteful little minx. You would not object to see her pride 
have a fall, then?” 

“ No I shouldn’t.” 

“ And it is, of course, my interest to lessen her influence as 
much as possible. Well, there are two ways in which to do it. ” 

“ Two?” 

“One I’ll keep to myself,” said Kingscott, with an ugly 
smile. “ The other depends somewhat on you. You say you 
have letters from her?” 

Hannington’s face flushed. 

“ I did not say I would show them,” he answered, doggedly. 

“ You did not say so. But — what if you let Moncriefl have 
a glance at them?” 

Hannington shifted uneasily in his chair. 

“ I don’t see the use of that,” he said. 

“You don’t?” — incredulously. 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Why, don’t you know that Alan Moncriefl is the most 
jealous, the most suspicious man alive? If 1 know anything 
of women, my dear Jack, she won’t have told him a word 
about you, or only what she pleases; and she will be mortally 
afraid of his getting to know the true state of the case.” 

“ Well,” growled Hannington, “the way to punish her * 
then, will be to threaten her, to hold the letters over her head, 
and give her a good fright. I shouldn’t mind doing that.” 

“Our aims differ,” said Kingscott, throwing himself back 
lazily in his chair, and lighting afresh cigar. “You want 
merely to punish her — 1 want to spoil her influence with Mon- 
crieff; there’s the difference. ” 

“ Can’t we do both?” suggested his companion, slowly. 
Then there was a little silence, during which each man smoked 
industriously, and revolved his own plans. When Kingscott 
next spoke, he seemingly changed the subject. 

“ So you saw Molly at the Lawsons’ this autumn?” he 
said. “ She isn’t a bad-looking girl, is she?” 

“Not at all.” 

“ She’ll have a fair fortune,” said Molly’s uncle. “ She 
has her mother’s money — comes into it at her marriage, or 
when she is twenty-one.” 

“ Indeed? Much?” 

“ Twenty-five thousand. Nothing to a fellow like you. 
But it will add to Molly’s attractions. ” 

He thought that he caught sight of an odd glitter in John 
Hannington’s black eyes. But he went on discreetly. 


96 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Moncrieff has the idea that he ought to tie her up very 
tight — I think he's married pretty Stella with the idea of get- 
ting a jailer for his pocr child. She'll not be allowed to come 
out till she is past her teens, or mix with the world at large 
until she's three-and-twenty. Before then, however, Alan 
will have found her a model husband, some worthy, prosy, 
neighboring laird, who will keep her in order, and bury her in 
a dull mansion in the Highlands nine months in the year; and 
that will be poor Molly's future fate." 

“Not a bit!" said Hannington, abruptly. “She'd not 
stand it, my dear fellow. She would bolt." 

“She had better bolt before marriage than after," was 
Kingscott's cynical response. To which his friend made no 
answer, but sat with his eyes fixed intently upon the opposite 
wall, and his foot moving meditatively to and fro. 

“ We’d better be going, I think," said Ralph at last, after 
looking at his watch. “ The train's due, and I must be on 
the spot to give Mr. and Mrs. Moncrieff their welcome. Will 
you come too?" 

“ Not I. I'll see Mrs. Moncrieff some other day — no fear." 

“ You won’t call?" 

“ Don't know." 

“ I thought that you were so very friendly with Molly! She 
.gave me quite a touching account of your attentions to her." 

“ She had better not say anything of that sort to her step- 
mamma!" 

“ No, no; I'll warn her. Shall I say that you are sorry you 
won't see her again?" 

Hannington 's lip curled. “ You want to know my plans, 
1 see? Well, they are not decided. But one thing I am sure 
of. I don't leave Mr. Pople’s inn just yet, I can tell you. 1 
am very well off where I am, and mean to stop." 

Kingscott nodded and smiled. “ All right. If you stay 
where you are for the next half hour you will see your old 
flame most likely. I ordered the open carriage to be sent 
down. Now I must go and find my cub — I hope he's all 
right. I left him in the bar." 

“ You can bring him here with you some night for a game 
of Nap," said Hannington. “He can get out at nights, I 
suppose?" 

“Oh, yes; thanks to the door in the tower and his kind 
uncle. Ta-ta, Jack. I'll remember you to Molly." 

And then Kingscott went down-stairs to seek Bertie, with 
whom he meant to go to the railway station, to welcome the 
bride and bridegroom home. Molly had refused to come. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


97 


She had returned from her visit to the Lawsons in a rather 
odd state of mind; she seemed excited and spiritless by turns; 
and in this condition her uncle had found it easier to make 
friends with her than he had ever done before. It had oc- 
curred to him that Molly might be useful in the furtherance 
of his schemes, and therefore he took pains to be agreeable to 
her. Molly, feeling sore and bitter still, because of what she 
styled. 44 Miss Raeburn’s treachery,” was only too glad to find 
some one into whose ear she might pour her woes without re- 
buke. She soon told, moreover, that she had seen some one 
at Miss Lawson’s whom she liked very much — a gentleman 
who had told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world 
— a Mr. John Haunington. And was it possible that Uncle 
Ralph knew* Mr. Hannington — had known him for many 
years, and liked him very much? Molly’s prejudice against 
her uncle went down like the walls of Jericho when the trum- 
pets had been blown. And all this information was turned by 
Mr. Kingscott to the very best account. 

He could not find Bertie for some time, and began to feel 
half vexed and half alarmed by the lad’s disappearance, espe- 
cially as he received a hint from the attendant that the young 
gentleman seemed a wee bit fond of a drap. 44 Fond of a 
drap?” — what on earth could the man mean! thought Kings- 
cott, irascibly. Bertie had surely not been such an idiot — 

He never finished the sentence to himself. At that very 
moment, he heard a bell ringing, and ran with all his might 
up the hill to the railway station, where Mr. Moncrieff’s car- 
riage and half a dozen other vehicles Were in waiting for the 
arrival of the train from Perth. Kingscott was a little late, 
as he was vexed to see. Mr. and Mrs. Moncrielf came out of 
the station just as he reached it; and his congratulations were 
somewhat spoiled in effect by the fact that he uttered them in 
a voice which showed that he was very much out of breath. 

4 4 Bertie came with me, but we stopped to say a word or two 
to a friend in the street, and I lost sight of him,” said Kings- 
cott, with admirable candor. 44 He is following me I suppose; 
we shall see him presently — ” 

And then he halted in his speech. A terrible sight met his 
eyes. A group of little boys had set up a shrill hurrah at the 
sight of 44 a drunk man yet not a man, but a slight, tall, 
handsome lad, whose eyes were wild, whose face was inflamed, 
who swayed from side to side in his endeavor to keep himself 
straight as he staggered across the road- way. Ralph made a 
rush forward, but Alan Moncrieff, with a face as white as 
death, laid a hand on his arm. 

4 


98 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Wait one moment/’ he said. <c I must put my wife into 
the carriage first. Then you and I will get that wretched lad 
home between us. The only thing we can do is to hide his 
shame — and our own — the best we can . 99 

And that was Stella’s home-coming. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

SHADOWS. 

Stella caught only a glimpse of Bertie’s vacant face. She 
was hastily placed in the carriage by Alan Moncrieff, whose 
rigid lips would hardly frame the words of apology for leaving 
her alone, which he felt were due to hffr; and then, almost be- 
fore she knew that had happened, she was being driven rapidly 
along the road toward the new home, which she had hoped to 
enter with her husband at her side. Alan blamed himself 
afterward for not having left his son to Kingscott’s care, for 
it occurred to him that Stella’s drive to Torresmuir would be 
desolate, indeed, without any one at her side to encourage her; 
but at the moment itself he was absorbed in the thought of 
Bertie, and too much shocked at the revelation of his state to 
be altogether regardful of the requirements of a young and 
timid wife. 

Stella did what she was asked to do without raising any ob- 
jection, but she wiped away a few tears as she was bowled 
along the road to Torresmuir. She had only a vagjje sense of 
what had happened. Alan’s stricken white face, Ralph 
Kingscott’s dismay, Bertie’s strange looks, did not tell her the 
whole truth of the story. She decided that Bertie must be ill, 
and she dreaded the thought of encountering Molly without 
her husband at her side. Fortunately she remembered that 
Aunt Jacky was to be present at Torresmuir that evening; and 
if she were there the place would not be so unliome-like after 
all. 

But the arrival was a trial to Stella’s equanimity. At the 
lodge-gate, several of the out-door men, the gardeners and 
keepers, were collected to give the new mistress a welcome. 
There was a little arch of evergreens and flags over the gate; 
Mr. Moncriefl had quite forgotten that any such reception was 
likely to have been devised. Everybody set up a shout as the 
carriage came up, but the shout died away in rather a feeble 
manner when it was seen that Mrs. Moncriefl occupied it 
alone. But she looked so beautiful and smiled so sweet a re- 
sponse to their greeting, that it was renewed with tenfold the 
previous fervor. Indeed the carriage had to be stopped for a 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


99 


minute or two, so that an old gamekeeper might make his lit- 
tle speech of welcome, in which he wished happiness and good 
fortune to the new mistress of Torresmuir. Mr. Moncrieff 
had warned Ralph that he did not want any formal reception 
or welcome of any kind, but Mr. Kingscott had been unable 
to prevent some slight demonstration on the part of the out- 
door men, who, more than the in-door servants, were dis- 
posed to be pleased that there was now to be a mistress 44 up 
at the house.” The house-servants were less inclined to be 
delighted. They had had their own way for so long that they 
feared a lady's rule — Miss Molly counting for nothing in their 
eyes. 

Stella explained, with a little blush and sigh, that Mr. Mon- 
crieff was detained at the station and would follow presently, 
but she added, diffidently, that she thought they had better 
not wait for him as he might be late, and — and — was tired and 
unwell. So the men dispersed, and did not at once catch the 
meaning of the glance and the wink which the coachman on 
the box bestowed on them. They hung about the stables 
afterward, however, to learn its meaning; and were very soon 
enlightened. Bertie's vacant looks and staggering footsteps 
needed no interpretation to them or to Mrs. Moncrieff. The 
whole household knew what had happened long before the 
master of the house came home. 

It was Miss Jacky who flung herself in Stella's arms and 
gave her a really hearty welcome, as she had done not eighteen 
months before, when the girl came home from school. The 
servants were waiting in the hall, but they did not give the 
new mistress any very amiable looks, although they behaved 
with outward respect and decorum. Molly came forward 
languidly, with such an abatement of her old vivacity thao 
Stella felt a pang of grief and alarm as she noted her altered 
manner, and kissed the cheek that was offered rather formally 
for her salute. 

44 Is papa not with you?" There was a touch of sharpness 
in Molly's tone. “And Uncle Ralph and Bertie — where are 
they?" 

“ They are coming presently; 1 left them at the station," 
said Stella, holding Aunt Jacky by the hand as she entered 
the drawing-room. 4 4 1 think — I am afraid — Bertie was not 
very well, and they stayed to attend to him." She hoped that 
her version of the story might be true. 

44 Not well — they stayed, and you did not stay?" said Molly, 
looking at Stella with eyes in which a new suspiciousness had 
crept. 44 Why did you come away?" 


100 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


44 Your father wished me to come/ 5 

44 I shall ask Macgregor,” said Molly. She was darting to 
the door when Stella caught her arm. 

“ Don’t go, Molly darling. Don’t ask. They will be here 
very soon; there is nothing seriously amiss, I hope. Don’t 
question the servants.” 

4 ‘ Why should I not question them?” said Molly the im- 
petuous. 44 They are all old friends of mine, and they would 
answer truly and faithfully, which perhaps you don’t want to 
do, Mrs. Moncrieff. ” Stella shrunk a little and turned pale 
as the girl flung this taunt into her face. 44 1 am not going 
to alter my old ways for any new-comers,” and with these 
words Molly escaped from the detaining hand, and rushed out 
of the room. 

Stella sunk down on the nearest chair. Her lips were trem- 
bling and the tears were in her eyes. 

44 Oh, my dearie, don’t you fash yourself,” said Aunt Jaoky, 
kissing her, and then wiping her own eyes. 44 She’s just full 
of tantrums, and she’ll get over them by and by. You come 
up to your own room, my bonny lassie, and lay by your bon- 
net. Your good man’s on the road. I’ll warrant, and he’ll 
soon set things to rights.” Aunt Jacky had an immense ad- 
miration for Alan Moncrieff. 

She asked no questions, for she saw that Stella was near 
weeping, and affection gave her an unusual amount of tact. 
She went upstairs with her, and helped her to take off her 
walking things. 44 Dinner to be served at eight, and it is more 
than half past seven now,” she said. 44 Are you going to 
dress, my lammie?” 

44 1 suppose I had better; I don’t know what I ought to 
do,” said Stella. 44 Yes, I will wear my silver-gray dress, 
Aunt Jacky; I think that perhaps I ought — though I feel very 
anxious— -and very — ” 

She did not conclude the sentence, and Aunt Jacky still 
asked no questions. 

44 Won’t you wear white, my dear? Surely you should look 
like a bride when your husband finds you in his home.” 

44 Oh, not to-night — not to-night,” said Stella, hurriedly. 
There was nothing of bridal joyousness in her heart just then. 

* As she was dressing, she heard the sound of wheels in the 
road outside, but the vehicle did not drive up to the front 
door. It stopped at a side gate. From the footsteps that she 
afterward distinguished upon the. gravel, she guessed that her 
husband and his companions entered the house by the door in 
the tower. She waited for a little while, but Mr. Moncrieff 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


101 


did not appear. Then she went to the drawing-room and sat 
almost in silence with Aunt Jacky and Molly until, at half 
past eight, Alan came in and made a grave formal apology 
for his lateness. Ralph followed him, but Bertie did not ap- 
pear. Molly began a question, but was stopped by a warning 
from her uncle. It was plain that Bertie’s existence was for 
the present to be ignored. 

Stella’s first dinner in her own home as a married woman 
was one that she could never recall without a shudder. It was 
so long, so dreary, so unspeakably uncomfortable. Her hus- 
band maintained almost entire silence, except when his office 
forced him to speak; he looked white, old, and dejected. 
Miss Jacky and Ralph Kingscott had so great an aversion to 
each other that they always found it difficult to keep the peace. 
Molly spoke only in monosyllables. Stella felt obliged to 
throw herself into the breach, and try to make conversation, 
but she was not very successful in her efforts. Nobody seemed 
better able to eat than to speak; and every one was glad when 
the meal came to an end. 

Alan and his brother-in-law remained in the dining-room for 
some time longer, while Stella talked a little to Miss Jacky, 
and tried to interest Molly in an account of her travels. But 
Molly refused to be interested. She sat stiffly in an upright 
chair, and looked at a book of photographs while Stella talked. 
But in spite of her stiffness and her sulkiness Stella could not 
but notice how much she was improving in dress, manner, and 
appearance. Her visit to the Lawsons had done her good. 
She only wore a simple white frock and a silver ornament or 
two, but there was a neatness and daintiness about her way of 
wearing them which differed from her habits of former days. 
Her hair no longer hung about her shoulders, but was gathered 
into loose, picturesque coils about her shapely head. Her 
complexion was more dazzling than ever, and her eyes seemed 
to have gained fire and softness. In short, Molly was on the 
high-road to becoming a beauty, if she was not one already. 
And as she sat in a high-backed chair, with the soft lamp-light 
gleaming on her ruddy bronze hair and the white and roseate 
tints of her clear skin, Stella scarcely wondered to see her 
father stop short for a moment when he came into the room, 
as though her appearance had positively startled him. Indeed, 
she learned afterward that Molly was growing wonderfully like 
her dead mother, and that the likeness had never struck him 
so much as it did just then. 

Miss Jacky rose at the stroke of ten, and declared that she 
must go home. The carriage was soon at the door to convey 


102 


THE LUCK OP THE HOUSE. 


the good old lady to the pretty cottage, which, in spite of all 
loneliness, she had declined to leave. Mr. Moncrieff had sug- 
gested that she should make Torresmuir her home, but she 
had refused to give up her independence. And she knew, be- 
sides, that Stella would take her proper place as mistress of 
the house more easily if she were not encumbered with an 
elderly maiden aunt. In all which, Miss Jacky showed her 
excellent sense. 

When she was gone, Molly, with unlooked-for temerity, 
faced her father defiantly in the drawing-room. 4 4 1 want to 
know, papa,” she said, undismayed by Mr. Moncrieff ’s frown, 
“ what is wrong with Bertie? I have been to his room, and 
he won't let me in. Is he ill?” 

44 1 do not suppose that he is ill as much as suffering from 
the consequences of his own folly,” said her father. His face 
was pale and set, his eyes looked hard as flint, from which, 
nevertheless, fire was being struck. 44 You will leave him 
alone for the present, Molly. I do not wish you to go near 
him. ” 

44 Why should I not go near him if he is ill?” said Molly, 
holding her head high. It was wonderful to see how much 
courage she had gained since her father's second marriage and 
her visit to the Lawsons. Stella gave her an entreating look, 
but Molly would not heed. 

44 Why not?” Alan Moncrieff spoke with exceeding bitter- 
ness. 44 Because he has disgraced himself and us — publicly 
disgraced us, as 1 never* thought a son of mine would do. 
Because he has chosen — not for the first time, I hear — to drink 
and quarrel and bet at a public bar, and to appear intoxicated 
in the public streets. That is why you may not go to him; 
for until he has at least shown some signs of repentance and 
amendment, 1 desire than he be left to himself, and 1 forbid 
any one to go to his room save at my request. ” 

Molly’s color faded, and her lips began to tremble, but her 
eyes flashed. 

44 And so you want me to desert him!” she cried, in an 
angry, faltering voice. 44 1 don’t care what he has done; he 
is my only brother, and I love him. If you loved him, too, 
you would forgive him. But you don’t care for us now; you 
only care for her ” — pointing to the dismayed Stella — 44 and 
the sooner we leave you and get out of the way, the better you 
will be pleased.” 

And then Molly fairly burst into tears and rushed out of the 
room, which was perhaps the best thing that she could do, for 
her father’s face was white with anger, and the frown on his 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


103 


brow would at any time have carried consternation to Molly’s 
heart. He would have followed her to the door had Stella’s 
hands not fallen pleadingly upon his arm. 

44 Oh, Alan, don’t mind! Her heart is very sore, poor 
child, and she does not know what she is saying. She will be 
sorry to-morrow; indeed, she will.” 

Mr. Kingscott had left the room, and Stella, finding herself 
alone with her husband, was impelled to put her arm half 
round his neck, and to lay her head caressingly upon his 
breast. Alan could not have torn himself away from that 
gentle bondage without a struggle. After the first involun- 
tary. movement he did not try. He drew her closer to him, 
and pressed her forehead with his lips. 

44 You are the only comfort that I have left,” he said. 44 It 
has been a sad home-coming for you, Stella. I pray God that 
life may yet brighten a little — for us both.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

BEBTIE. 

But Alan Moncriefi’s anger, hotly as it burned against the 
son who had disgraced, and the daughter who had defied him, 
died away into sadness and disappointment, which was much 
more lasting and much harder for those who loved him to en- 
dure. He was extremely shocked and distressed to find that 
Bertie had taken many steps in a downward course, which he 
had never dreamed that the lad was likely to tread at all. A 
few careful ahd confidential inquiries in the town elicited the 
fact that Bertie was by no means as quiet and home-loving as 
his father had always credited him with being; that he was 
well known in various very questionable resorts, and that he 
had a great love for cards. Whether the gambling passion 
had yet been excited within him, Mr. Moncriefi found it hard 
to ascertain. Bertie, on being questioned, acknowledged that 
he played for money, but only, he said, for small stakes. He 
had no debts; he did not care for betting; he drank only be- 
cause 44 other fellows ” did. When pressed to state 44 what 
other fellows?” he became silent, and looked utterly miser- 
able. When asked who first introduced him to the low society 
which he had begun to frequent, he at first refused to answer, 
and then said that nobody had introduced him; he had sought 
these people of his own free will. Mr. Moncrieff had scarcely 
any alternative but to believe him. And yet he was suspi- 
cious— of what, of whom, he could not exactly tell. 

Stella’s suspicions were much more definite. She firmly be- 


104 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


lieved that Ralph Kingscott was at the bottom of Bertie’s dis- 
grace; and that he was responsible for the boy’s gradual de- 
clension. But when she hinted this view of the case to her 
husband, she was met with an expression of cold displeasure 
which silenced her at once. Mr. Moncrieff had never been 
anything but satisfied with Ralph, he said. Ralph was a man 
of high character and good ability, who had given up his career 
expressly for the purpose of making himself useful to his sis- 
ter’s husband and children. Stella felt vaguely that Alan was 
mentally accusing her of jealousy, and of a mean desire to get 
his first wife’s relative out of the house, and she forbore to 
speak another word. But she was not convinced of Ralph’s 
honor and uprightness even yet. 

She overheard a scrap of conversation which confirmed her 
secret suspicions in a rather curious way. She wanted to talk 
to Bertie — who had not yet made his appearance in public 
after his escapade — and Mr. Moncrieff had told her that she 
would probably find him in the Octagon Room, where he gen- 
erally pursued his studies under Kingscott’s superintendence. 
Thither Stella betook herself about six o’clock one evening. 

< Two days had elapsed since her arrival at Torresmuir, and she 
had not yet seen the boy, over whom her heart yearned with a 
sensation of intolerable grief and pain. She came quietly 
through the long gallery — so quietly that her footsteps made 
no sound upon the polished floor — and paused for a moment 
before she drew the portiere before the entrance to the Octa- 
gon Room. She paused simply to collect her thoughts, to 
renew her courage; but in that pause voices fell ftpon her ear. 

“ You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Ralph Kingscott was say- 
ing, coolly. “ If you say one word about it. I’ll tell your 
father the whole of that little transaction of yours with Vin- 
ner, and then — ” 

“No! oh, no!” Bertie’s voice, full of agitation and appeal, 
was heard to say, “ Oh, don’t tell him that. He w r ould never 
forgive me. I will do anything you like — 1 won’t say a 
word — ” 

And then Stella drew the curtain aside, and found, as she 
had already divined, that the door was open. Bertie was 
lying on a sofa, his head half buried in the cushions; Mr. 
Kingscott was lounging in an arm-chair with his arm behind 
his head. He cast a look of positive hatred at Stella as she 
came in; a look in which malignity and cunning were so blend- 
ed that she did not like to remember it afterward, although at 
the time itself it produced little impression upon her. 

“Mrs. Moncrieff!” he exclaimed, starting to his feet, with 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


105 


a sort of disagreeably exaggerated politeness. “ We never ex- 
pected tins honor, did we, Bertie? My young pupil and 1 
seem to have had a prescriptive right to this part of the house 
for so long that we are quite unused to visitors. But of course 
we must look for changes now.” 

There was a subtle sting in this remark which was not lost 
upon Stella’s perceptions, but she did not choose to* attend to 
Mr. Kingseott’s insinuations at that moment. She turned at 
once toward Bertie, who did not raise his face from the pillow 
against which it was pressed. She could read shame in the 
boy’s very attitude, and she hastened to lay her hand gently 
on his head, without heeding Mr. Kiugscott’s presence. 

“ Bertie!” she said, softly, “ Bertie! have you no word for 
me?” 

She felt her hand taken and carried to the boy’s lips, but he 
did not say a word. Moved by a sudden impatience, she 
looked round at Mr. Kingscott. “ I should like to speak to 
him alone for a few minutes,” she said. “ You will excuse 
me if I ask — ” 

“ Oh, certainly. You have every right to command,” said 
Kingscott, bowing with the ironical politeness which he had 
already shown to her. “ Will leave you with your step-son by 
all means, Mrs. Moncrieff. ” 

Stella felt that there was something unpleasant — something 
even vaguely insulting — in his manner, but she did not choose 
to resent it. She waited, with her hand in Bertie’s grasp, 
until his uncle had retired. Mr. Kingscott went into his own 
room and closed the door of communication. Kot till then 
did Stella feel free to sink down on her knees beside Bertie’s 
sofa, and speak to him in soft, caressing tones. 

“ Dear Bertie, we are all so sorry. And you are sorry, too. ” 

Then the boy’s grief broke forth. He burst into a storm of 
choking, overpowering sobs, in which all his attempts at speech 
were lost. It was some time before the words became articu- 
late. 

“ I didn’t mean it — 1 never thought what I was doing — I 
shall never be able to look you in the face again!” These 
were the first words that became audible. 

“ I know, dear; I understand.” 

“Just when you came home — just when you expected a 
welcome — for me to disgrace you so! And my father — he’ll 
never forgive me!” 

“ Oh f yes, he will, Bertie. If you are sure that *you have 
told him everything that he ought to know — and if for the 
future you do right.” 


106 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Bertie did not speak. From the tremor that ran through 
his whole frame, Stella felt that her words had gone home. 

“Is there not anything- that you have kept from your 
father, Bertie? Is there not something that he ought to know?” 

“ You — you heard me speaking — as you came in?” 

“ Yes, .dear.” 

“ Oh, don’t tell, don’t say anything to my father,” said the 
boy, raising himself for the first time, and turning an anguished 
face upon her. “ It is not my secret — at least, it is nothing — 
nothing much — ” 

“ Then why are you so much afraid of his knowing?” 

“ 1 should like him to know! Oh, 1 wish 1 could tell him 
everything!” 

“ You mean,” said Stella, slowly, “ that your uncle, Mr. 
Kingscott, will not allow you to speak?” 

The boy cowered down, with his face in the cushion again. 
Stella grew a little indignant. 

“ Why are you afraid of him?” she said. “Why do you 
not throw off his bondage, and be perfectly frank and open ? 
You think he will tell your father of things that you want 
hidden? but why do you hide them? why not make a full con- 
fession of everything wrong, and start afresh ? Be brave, dear 
Bertie, and tell your father all.” 

But Bertie only groaned and muttered, “ You don’t know. 
You would not say so if you knew everything.” 

“ Then tell me everything, and let me judge.” 

“ No, no; I can’t.” 

“ Then, Bertie, I think I must tell your father what I heard 
as I came in, and let him question you.” 

But at this Bertie fell into such a paroxysm of terror, and 
was yet so emphatic in his asseverations, that there was noth- 
ing to tell — nothing to conceal — that Stella was fairly bewil- 
dered. And when the boy added the most earnest assurances 
that he was resolved to give up his bad companions and to lead 
a steady and honorable course for the future, she felt that she 
was unable to do more for him, and could only hope that he 
would keep his word. Her late failure to impress Mr. Mon- 
crieff with any doubt of Ralph Kingscott added to her reluct- 
ance to make any accusation of that gentleman. She made 
up her mind, therefore, to wait for a time and see what hap- 
pened; for Bertie seemed sincerely repentant, and had prom- 
ised to amend his ways, and if he did as he had promjged there 
would surely be no need to say anything. She wondered after- 
ward whether a little cowardice had not prompted this decis- 
ion; but she was not actually conscious of it at the time. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


107 


Alan Moncrieff was only too glad to be able to accord a free 
pardon to his boy, and Stella felt that her intercession had 
not been unavailing in bringing a reconciliation about at an 
earlier date than Bertie had expected. The boy was very much 
humbled by his disgrace; for it could not be denied that every 
one in the neighborhood was aware of the fact that he had 
been seen under the influence of drink outside the railway sta- 
tion, on the evening of his step-mother’s arrival; and it was 
the publicity of the incident which added poignancy to his 
father’s grief, as well as his own humiliation. It was decided 
that he should be sent to a tutor’s at the New-year; and in 
the meantime he was to remain under Mr. Kingscott’s tuition 
and guardianship. Stella would have been better satisfied if 
he had gone at once; but, as she soon found, her husband did 
not like precipitate action, and it was useless to urge him to 
do what lie did not like. It was easy to perceive that although 
he was always kind and courteous and considerate toward her, 
it was not she who had influence with him in practical mat- 
ters, but his first wife’s brother, Ralph Kingscott. He was 
supreme, and Mrs. Moncrieff— although she sat at the head of 
the table, and ordered the dinner, and supervised Molly’s 
studies, and received visitors — Mrs. Moncrieff was a cipher in 
the house. 

One of Stella’s first visitors was Lady Valencia Gilderoy. 
Lady Val lived with a widowed sister at a pretty little house 
about five miles from Torresmuir, and she had known the 
Moncrieffs for many years. The sister, Mrs. Lennox, had laid 
aside all outward traces of widowhood, received a good deal of 
company, and was one of the most popular women in the 
country-side. Lady Val was popular, also, but in a different 
way. She was reputed to be one of the most skillful and 
shameless flirts in the county, and Stella liked the report that 
she heard of her so little, that she half involuntarily received 
Lady Val with much stiffness, and showed by her manner 
that she had no great desire to be a friend of hers. But Lady 
Val was undismayed. “ 1 like the little thing, and I’m going 
to be friends with her,” she remarked to her sister, as they 
drove home together after their first call; “ so she needn’t put 
on .her company manners for me. I’ll soon get rid of that.” 

“ She’s very quiet,” said Mrs. Lennox. “ I don’t see much 
to like in her, Val. I wonder what Alan Moncrieff married 
her for. Her pretty face, I suppose. 1 thought he had more 
sense.” 

“ No man has any sense where a pretty face is concerned,” 
said Lady Val, decisively. “ But I think there’s more than 


108 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

that in Mrs. Moncrieff. She must have some character, I 
fancy.” 

She did not say why she thought so; but she was thinking 
of that autumn day when she and John Hannington had been 
riding side by side toward Dunkeld, and when “ the little 
Dundee girl” had given John Hannington the cut direct. 
She laughed to herself, but she set her teeth as though some- 
thing hurt her even while she laughed, at the thought of Jack 
Hannington's face. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

LADY VAL'S HEWS. 

Winter came down upon the land and laid its iron grip 
upon the bounding streams, upon the trees and flowers and 
mossy ground; it enveloped the hills in a winding-sheet of 
snow, and hung a veil of hoar-frost, over the casements of 
every house. In weather of this kind, the old and sickly were 
sure to suffer. Miss Jacky was neither very weak nor very 
aged, and yet she succumbed to the severity of the cold. A 
bad attack of bronchitis reduced her strength very seriously, 
and a heart affection, of which she had been silently conscious 
for many years, put an end to her life just when she seemed 
to be recovering. In January she was carried to her last long 
rest, and then Stella felt herself more than ever lonely and 
alone. 

She had failed, apparently, to win Molly's trust and affec- 
tion. The girl had been cold and unresponsive ever since 
Stella became her father's wife. It seemed as if she owed her 
step-mother a grudge which she could not forget or forgive, 
and although she was not outwardly rebellious — for she had 
lost some of her childish waywardness — she was neither com- 
panionable nor agreeable. Bertie was far more affectionate to 
his step-mother than was Molly; but Stella saw little of him, 
for Ralph Kfngscott kept such watch and ward over the lad, 
that he was not often to be found, save “ under surveillance .'' 
The scheme for sending him to England at the New-year had 
to be deferred, for he caught so severe a cold during the 
Christmas week that it was impossible for him to leave home, 
and Mr. Moncrieff decided that he must wait for warmer 
weather before any change in his manner of life was made. 
This fact, and Miss Raeburn's death, caused him also not to 
press Stella to go with him to London, as he had at first in- 
tended to do; he hardly liked to take her away from home, 
and thought that it might be as well to defer her visit to the 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


109 


metropolis until Molly was old enough to go and be presented 
at the same time. lie himself spent a few days in town, but 
soon returned to Torresmuir, where there was a magnet, the 
influence of which was stronger than he knew. 

It seemed to Stella that she saw very little of her husband. 
She had dreams of companionship and guidance which had 
come to naught. She could not blame Alan, or think that he 
actually neglected her; he was always ready to do what she 
required of him, to pay calls, to drive or ride with her, to 
escort her with scrupulous care to balls and dinner-parties; 
but he did not seem to seek her society, or, if he sought it, 
Ralph Kingscott was always by to offer his companionship, 
and thrust himself into their company. It seemed to Stella 
that Ralph hinted continually that Alan would be dull with 
her alone; that he needed a man’s companionship, and that a 
woman could not interest him. Time after time he diverted 
Alan’s attention from her, or — as she occasionally found out — 
misrepresented her wishes, and prevented her husband from 
accompanying her when she went out. Yet it was impossible 
for Stella to protest, to explain ; if ever she tried to do so, 
Alan immediately suspected some attack upon Ralph Kings- 
cott, proceeding from feminine spite and jealousy, and 
silenced her at once. She could only feel a vague conscious- 
ness of disappointment in her married life; she knew not 
why. She said to herself that as long as Ralph Kingscott 
remained in the house she could never be happy; but there 
seemed no prospect of Ralph’s removal. Even when Bertie 
went away it was arranged that he should remain — to act as 
Mr. Moncrieff’s secretary and look after the estate. His look 
of satisfaction whenever he had managed to allure Alan from 
her side used to make Stella sick at heart. 

The spring came on apace, and with one of the earliest fine 
days Lady Valencia Gilderoy made her appearance at Torres- 
muir. She had not visited it of late, and, in spite of Stella’s 
want of friendly feeling for her at first sight. Lady Val’s calls 
had been very much missed by Mrs. Moncrieff. Lady Val was 
so bright, so full of energy, so amusing, that Stella had been 
attracted half against her will. And she was unfeignedly 
glad, therefore, to see her visitor. 

“ Why, how w r hite you look!” cried Lady Val, as she came 
in, rosy with exercise, her dark eyes sparkling, her riding- 
habit neatly tucked up in one band. “ You’ve been sitting 
in-doors too' much, Mrs. Moncrieff. I wouldn’t allow that if I 
were your husband.” 

“Alan is away,” said Stella, with a faint smile. “And 


110 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Molly and Bertie are out together somewhere. I had a head- 
ache, 1 believe, and wanted to be lazy. ” 

Lady Yal nodded significantly. 

- “A headache! I’ve no doubt oi it. I should think Molly 
keeps your hands full. She’s a troublesome monkey. I know 
her of old.” 

The color came at once to Stella’s cheek. “ She is a very 
dear girl,” the step-mother responded, warmly. 

“ She is a very pretty one, Mrs. Moncriefi. And she looks 
as old as you do yourself — especially since she has taken to 
long dresses and elaborate coils of hair. A girl of that sort 
attracts admirers very soon.” 

Again there was that significance in Lady Valencia’s voice. 
Mrs. Moncriefi drew herself up with a slight, unconscious air 
of dignity. 

“ I dare say,” she answered, with some stiffness of manner. 
And then, with a relaxing smile, “ Toor Molly is hardly to 
blame for that. Lady Valencia.” 

“ My dear creature, did I say that she was to blame?” cried 
Lady Val. “ Do excuse me, Mrs. Moncriefi. I don’t wish to 
be rude, or to take liberties; but you see I have known Molly 
all her life, and I can’t help feeling interested in her. I know 
you will hate me if 1 say what 1 came intending to say; and 
yet I don’t know what else to do. You wouldn’t rather that 
1 went straight to Mr. Moncriefi, would you?” 

Stella looked at her in dismay. “ Do you mean that there 
is anything to be told — anything wrong?” she asked. 

“ It may not be wrong; it may be all right,” said Lady 
Val, brusquely. “All I can tell is, that people will soon 
begin to gossip, if they have not begun already. To ask a 
plain question — is Molly engaged to be married?” 

“ Molly! she is only a child. Certainly not.” 

“A child! 'Well, she’s a very big child, Mrs. Moncriefi. 
She is seventeen, isn’t she? Not much younger than yourself, 
you know, after all. And if she isn’t engaged, it is time that 
somebody looked after her, for I don’t think she’s able to look 
after herself.” 

“ You mean,” said Stella, changing color sensitively, that 
I am not looking after her?” 

“ 1 don’t mean anything of the kind. Everybody knows 
that you are a model step-mother. But — do you know Tom- 
garrow?” 

“ The little half -deserted village up the hill? Yes, 1 go 
there sometimes to see old Mrs. Cameron. What about it?” 

“ And you send Molly up sometimes to see Mrs. Cameron, 


V 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Ill 


don’t you?” said Lady Val, with a shrewd look. “Well, I 
wouldn’t send her there again — alone — if I were you. That’s 
all. 1 felt it my duty to give you that hint, although, as 1 
said, I know you’ll hate me for doing so.” 

“You must tell me more than this? I must know what 
you mean,” cried Stella, suddenly turning very white. “ It 
is not fair to give me a mere hint of this sort and say no 
more — ” 

“ Yes, it is,” Lady Yal answered, not unkindly. “ There 
is, perhaps, no reason why I should say anything at all. I am 
sorry to make you uncomfortable, Mrs. Moncrieff, but I only 
want to put you on your guard with Miss Molly. Both these 
children want well looking after, I assure you, as, no doubt, 
you have found. I would not have come if 1 had not felt sure 
that the truth would be reaching your ears before long in some 
more disagreeable form. It is better that it should come from 
me.” 

“ The truth! What truth? Oh, Lady Valencia, do speak 
plainly. ” 

“ I don’t want to say too much,” said Lady Yal, rising and 
gathering up her skirts again, as if she wanted to get away as 
quickly as possible, “ but I did want to say something. If 
pretty Molly has got a lover, there is no reason why it should 
be anything for you to alarm yourself about. Only, in my 
opinion, it would be better that he should meet her at proper 
times and in proper places, instead of waiting behind broken 
walls or in plantations, and wandering about with her over 
the moor. Tomgarrow — that’s the meeting-place, Mrs. Mon- 
crieff; and in telling you that, I am almost inclined to believe 
that I am doing a mean action.” 

“ Do you know who — who — it is?” said Stella, in dismay. 
Lady Val looked at her very kindly. 

“ It’s an old acquaintance of mine, Mrs. Moncrieff; I might 
say an old friend, only I don’t think that his actions have been 
particularly friendly. That’s why I don’t like to go much 
further in my revelations. No, I won’t tell you his name. I 
shall leave you to make your own inquiries. You will easily 
learn the truth now that you have a suspicion of it. Good- 
bye, and believe me, I’m very sorry to be the bearer of such 
disagreeable news.” 

“ I ought to be very much obliged to you — ” 

“ But you’re not; and I don’t expect you to be obliged to 
me just yet. You will be, by and by, and I can wait. Why, 
you’re all in a tremble, poor little woman. Don’t be afraid; 


112 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Molly’s skittish, but she’s got no vice in her, as we say of 
horses. Good-bye, and don’t forget Tomgarrow.” 

She hurried away, divining that Stella would like to be 
alone; but she did not guess the action upon which Mrs. Mon- 
crielf instantly resolved as soon as her visitor was gone. In- 
deed, Lady Val had not yet formed a just estimate of Stella’s 
character. She thought her amiable, engaging, kind; but she 
did not give her credit for much energy of will or keen per- 
ception of mind. She would have been amazed, indeed, if she 
had seen the rapidity with which Stella arrived that afternoon 
at a conclusion, and the decisiveness with which she acted 
upon it. 

In five minutes after Lady Yal’s departure, Stella was v, 'ally- 
ing quickly up the road which led to the tiny and half -deserted 
hamlet of which her visitor had spoken. It did not lie close, 
to the road, but was reached either by a steep and narrow lane 
running at right angles to the highway, or by the fields which 
surrounded it. The inhabitants had for the most part de- 
serted it; many of them had emigrated and left their houses 
empty; some of the buildings had been devastated by fire, and 
the broken walls ouly remained to show where once had been 
a home. A few of the older folks still clung to their dwell- 
ings; these were mostly aged Gaelic-speaking men or women, 
who had not had the heart to leave the place whence their 
younger relatives had departed. They, maintained themselves 
by working in the fields from time to time, and by cultivating 
their little patches of garden; but their number was gradually 
dwindling, and the peat smoke rose from very few of the 
gaunt stone cottages, and the weeds grew rank and wild in 
the deserted squares of garden, and over the moldering walls. 
The site of the place was very beautiful, and the women who 
lived there were distinguished by the Highland softness of 
speech and courtliness of manner which are eminently char- 
acteristic of their race. Hitherto it had been always a pleas- 
ure to Stella to visit them, and to convey little gifts to them 
either by her own hands or by those of her step-daughter. 
She remembered with dismay that she had that very afternoon 
asked Molly to take some tea to the old women, and Molly had 
replied very readily that she wanted a walk and would be glad 
to go. Stella remembered too that a quick glance of mutual 
understanding had then passed between the eyes of Molly and 
of her uncle Ralph — and that Bertie also had given his sister 
a quick, significant look. She had scarcely noticed this at the 
moment, but seen by the light of Lady Val’s subsequent 
warning it assumed large proportions in her eyes. Were Mr. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


113 


\ 

Kingscott and Bertie in the secret— if secret there were — of 
Molly's clandestine meetings with her lover? And who could 
this lover be? Surely, she was inclined to say to herself, 
surely Lady Yal must have been mistaken! She must have 
mistaken some casual meeting with a friend for an assignation 
— of which Molly was as innocent as a baby. Molly — so young, 
so pretty, apparently so frank? It could not be. 

As Stella toiled up the lane that led her to Tomgarrow, she 
could not but remember, however, the warning that her hus- 
band had given her respecting Molly's tendencies. She had 
not believed that he was right; she had almost forgotten what 
he said. She had trusted Molly entirely — foolish, weak, care- 
less guardian of Molly's youth, she called herself as she thought 
of it. Oh, why had she not done her duty better? 

Thus reproaching herself, she reached Tomgarrow, and 
there a full sense of the difficulty of her errand rushed upon 
her. After all, why had she come? It was not likely that 
Molly would be in the village now. But she might as well 
ask at one of the cottages if Miss Moncrieff had been there 
that afternoon. And even as she thought of this, and hesi- 
tated, for a moment as to the course that she had better take, 
the sound of voices — of a laugh — fell oddly upon her ears. She 
turned instinctively in the direction of the sound. 

A high wall that had once belonged to a house stood before 
her, blocking up the view. She skirted it slowly, still listen- 
ing for the voices which now were still. Coming out on the 
other side, she saw two figures leaning against the wall as if 
sheltering from the cold east wind. A wide sunshiny tract of 
country lay before them; their backs were to the other habi- 
tations, and not another living creature was in sight. Molly 
Moncrieff was smiling up into the 'face of a tall, dark man, 
who had put his arm round her, and was holding her to his 
breast. It seemed as if he had been going to kiss her; but 
when Stella appeared at the extremity of the sheltering wall, 
he quitted his hold of the girl somewhat abruptly. 

No wonder that he was startled. No wonder, perhaps, that 
she was even more startled than himself, for in the person of 
Molly's lover she saw the man whom she herself had once 
dreamed of marrying, the man who had cast her off because 
she was not rich enough for him to choose, the unscrupulous 
fortune-hunter — J ohn Hannington. 


114 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


CHAPTER XIX. 
molly's wooer. 

Molly, who did not see Stella at once — not indeed until 
Hannington's sudden change of expression showed her that 
there was something wrong — turned sharply round and ut- 
tered a cry of positive rage. 

“There! 1 told you so!" she exclaimed. “She is always 
spying after me — watching me — prying into all my affairs! 
And now she has followed me here. Oh, what shall I do? 
Jack, dear Jack, save me from her! I know that she'll betray 
us!" And the girl hid her face on Mr. Hannington's shoul- 
der, and clung to him, as if she feared that Stella would drag 
her away by force. 

“ Don't be afraid, my darling!" said Haunington. Was it 
Stella's fancy, or did his eyes light up with a gleam of positive 
triumph, his lips curl with a vindictive smile? “Mrs. Moncrieff 
is the last person to do us an injury; you may depend upon 
that." And he calmly raised his hat from his head with an 
assumption of elaborate courtesy which could scarcely, under 
the circumstances, have been genuine. 

Stella came forward, her face pale, but resolute. 

“Molly," she said, quietly; “you know very well that I 
wish only for your good. Come away with me, and you can 
explain to me afterward what all this means. Mr. Hanning- 
ton will also, no doubt, explain to Mr. Moncrieff — if he can." 

She looked at Haunington with defiance and mistrust in her 
eyes, which he could not fail jto understand. 

“ I shall explain it when necessary," said he, coolly; “but 
I shall probably take my own time for doing so, Mrs. Mon- 
crieff. " 

“ My husband will be home to-night. I shall of course tell 
him what I have seen and heard." 

John Hannington smiled a little, but did not speak. Molly 
tore herself away from his encircling arm, and faced her step- 
mother valiantly. 

“ You won’t really do that, will you?" she said. “ It isn't 
fair — indeed it isn't fair of you! There's no harm in my 
meeting John — Mr. Hannington — and I don't see why any- 
body need — need — make a fuss about it." 

“ If there is no harm in it, Molly, then there is no reason 
why your father should not hear." 

Molly suddenly burst into tears. Mr. Hannington caught 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


115 


her hand and drew her toward him. 44 Don’t cry, little one,” 
he said, 44 there’s nothing to be afraid about. I don’t think 
you need fear Mrs. Moncrieff, even. When she recollects 
some little episodes in her own life she may not feel inclined 
to be so hard upon you. ” 

44 I have nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Hannington,” said 
Stella, flushing to the very roots of her golden hair! But her 
old lover only laughed slightly and turned aside. 

“ Run away home, Molly,” he said, kissing the girl’s fore- 
head lightly, and giving her hand a squeeze. “ I want to 
have a little chat with Mrs. Moncrieff, and 1 think we shall 
manage to arrange the matter.” 

44 Yes, Molly, go home,” said Stella, quietly. 44 1 want a 
little conversation with Mr. Ilannington, too.” 

44 Why should I go?” Molly murmured, rebelliously; but a 
look and a word from John Hannington sent her off without 
delay. He had evidently found a way of ruling her mutinous 
spirit. She turned and took the path across the fields — it was 
the nearest way home, but also the least frequented. Stella 
looked after her with doubtful eyes; the afternoon was toler- 
ably far advanced, and she scarcely kuew whether to let the girl 
go home alone. Mr. Hannington interpreted, and replied to 
her glance. 

44 You need not be afraid for her. She has an escort at 
hand. Some one is waiting for her at the stile. ” 

44 Some one? Bertie?” 

44 1 believe so.” 

44 Then he is implicated too. He has been deceiving us, and 
Molly too! Oh! what will their father say?” and a look of 
such real distress came into Stella’s eyes that Hannington 
exerted himself not to let her think matters worse than they 
really were. 

44 No,” he said, 44 1 don’t think you need disturb yourself 
about Bertie. I don’t think he knew I was here. He let 
Molly come up to the cottages alone, because he said that he 
was not fond of old women. No, it is on Molly alone, Mrs. 
Moncrieff, and my unworthy self, that your anger must fall. ” 

Stella gave him a reproachful look. 44 1 have good reason 
not to trust you much,” she said, slowly; 44 but I did not 
think that you would seek out Molly, of all people in the 
world, to turn her head by your attentions, and then — perhaps 
— to break her heart — ” 

44 As I did yours?” said Hannington, coolly. 44 Is that 
what you mean to imply, Mrs. Moncrieff? I must say that I 
never saw any signs of a broken heart about you; you consoled 


116 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


yourself very speedily, I remember. And, besides, you talk as 
if 1 acted without motives. I have no particular wish to turn 
heads and break hearts, I assure you. But for unfortunate 
circumstances — upon which we need not enter at present — I 
should have been only too happy to make you my wife. As it 
is, 1 have every intention of asking Miss Moncrieff to take the 
vacant place as speedily as possible. ” «■ 

“ That child?” 

“ Not so much younger than you were when you plighted 
your troth to me at Balmerino. Have you forgotten that: It 
is not two years ago. ” 

“I wonder that you dare to recall it,” said Stella, -her 
wrath suddenly flashing out against him. “ A gentleman 
would be ashamed to do so.” 

Hannington shrugged his shoulders. “It is easy to call 
names,” he said. “1 should never have recalled it to your 
mind if you had not thrust your presence upon me uninvited — 
you will excuse the freedom with which I speak, I hope? 
There is really nothing for you to excite yourself about, Mrs. 
Moncrieff. Your step-daughter is very pretty; I admire lier 
exceedingly, and we are very good friends. A little harmless 
flirtation will not do her any harm.” 

“ It must cease at once. 1 do not wish to consider whether 
it will do her harm or not.” 

“ Well, it shall cease. In fact, it has ceased — as flirtation. 
Molly has consented to be my wife.” 

“ And you dared to win her affection without consulting her 
father first?” 

“ You were not quite so anxious that your father should be 
consulted before I won yours, Stella.” 

“ Mr. Hannington, I am Alan Moncrieff 's wife, and I am 
surprised that you should forget it so far as to insult me.” 

Mr. Hannington laughed again. “ Come,” he said, “ don't 
be so hot, Stella. I didn't mean to insult you in the least. I 
am very glad indeed that you are Moncrieff 's wife, and hope 
that years of uninterrupted prosperity lie before you. Mon- 
crieff is rather a stiff old fellow, isn't he? A little apt to be 
overpunctilious — a trifle jealous and suspicious? That used 
to be his character, I know, when his first wife was alive.” 

“ I wished to speak to you about Miss Moncrieff, not about 
my husband, Mr. Hannington.” 

“Very well. Then we will speak about Miss Moncrieff,” 
said the man beside her, his voice assuming the hard tone 
which always characterized it when he was annoyed. “ 1 will 
tell you my intentions respecting Miss Moncrieff, and I will 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


117 


leave it to yourself to decide on your own future course. Molly 
is very fond of me, as no doubt you have seen, and any oppo- 
sition will only make her more determined to follow her own 
will. As I said before I have asked her to marry me. She is 
young; I have no especial wish to marry her at once; there- 
fore I should prefer to have no formal engagement for the 
present. All I want now is admittance to your house, per- 
mission to see her now and then, and your assistance in 
gradually inducing Mr. Mon crieff to consent to the marriage. 
That is all.” 

44 And do you think that Mr. Moncrieff will ever consent to 
it when he knows that you have persuaded his daughter to 
meet you here in a clandestine way, and have made love to 
her already without his permission?” 

44 No, I don't,” was the frank reply. 44 But then, I don't 
want him to know anything about it, don't you see? Nobody 
will tell him, if you don't. ” 

44 But I must! I shall!” 

44 Just so. And if you do, are you under the impression 
that I shall not defend myself?” 

He faced her as he spoke. The light of day was growing 
dim, and made his countenance look pallid, but it did not con- 
ceal the dark and almost malevolent expression that crossed 
his features, nor the sardonic glitter of his dark eyes. As 
Stella stood and looked at him, she wondered what glamour 
there had ever been thrown over this man to make him rank 
high in her esteem. 

44 1 do not know how you can defend yourself,” she said, 
after a little pause. 

44 It would be easy, Mrs. Moncrieff, to defend myself by 
playing on some very well-known characteristics of your hus- 
band. It would be easy to say that you — like many another 
step-mother — were anxious to put the worst interpretation on 
anything that Molly said or did. It would be easy to say that 
I had met Miss Moncrieff seldom, and only by accident, and 
that I had not said anything which need cause him anxiety.” 

44 Not easy for a man of honor — not easy if you spoke the 
truth!” 

Hannington bowed with sarcastic composure. 44 It would 
be a case of hard swearing, perhaps, but a man's honor allows 
him to tell lies, in order to protect the woman that he loves, 
Mrs. Moncrieff. As for me, 1 love Molly, and 1 shall do my 
best to win her. There would be nothing at all remarkable 
in Moncrieff 's eyes in your opposition to the marriage if 1 
hinted to him that you had had a previous attachment, and 


118 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


that no woman likes to see herself supplanted — and so on — he 
would be ready enough to believe that you found it impossible 
to be magnanimous — no doubt — and it would be a pleasant 
little piece of news to ’hear, perhaps, that his wife had once 
written very pretty and affectionate love-letters before her 
marriage to another man!” 

To do Hannington justice, he did not intend to carry his 
threat into execution, but the look of white terror that came 
into Stella's face showed him that he had hit upon a very 
effectual method of managing her. At least, so it appeared to 
him just then. He had half expected to hear that Mr. Mon- 
crieff had already been told of Stella's former attachment, and 
that it was for this reason that Mr. Moncrieff had of late 
shown himself so little friendly with Hannington. But a look 
at Stella's face made him see his mistake. For a moment she 
was mute, but he read in her eyes that such a revelation of 
her past would be disastrous indeed for her. 

44 You would not tell him that?'' she murmured, almost 
below her breath. She was too much startled to be prudent. 

44 But indeed 1 would. So you have not told him yourself, 
I see? Well, you were wise. He is a man who never for- 
gives — never trusts again where he has been once deceived. '' 

44 But I never deceived him!” 

44 Oh, no; I did not say that you ever did. The story is of 
very little importance after all. Only if you interfere with 
my plan, Mrs. Moncrieff, I shall take care to let him know 
the reason; that is all. Let me have my own way about 
Molly, or I will send him your letters. You can choose.” 

44 He would not read them!” 

44 Oh, yes, he would.” 

44 You do not know him as I do.” 

Hannington only smiled. 44 Suppose he did not read them 
then. SupjDose he burned them unread! Would he not al- 
ways remember that there was something which he might have 
read? Would he be very likely to trust you again? Perhaps 
you don't care for his trust; if so, that is all right, and I stand 
aside abashed; but if you do — as a friend 1 would recommend 
that you kept those letters out of his hands; that is all.” 

Again there was a silence. He watched her white, quiver- 
ing face with a faint, furtive smile; he felt very certain that 
he would ultimately gain his point. 

44 It is growing late,” he said at last, 44 and this is a matter 
which possibly requires a little consideration. Perhaps you 
would rather give me your answer to-morrow, Mrs. Moncrieff? 
I take it for granted that you won't spring the matter on your 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


119 


husband the moment he comes home to-night? That would 
be rather too unkind. To-morrow afternoon, shall we say?” 


CHAPTER XX. 

“only one week!” 

Stella consented to the delay. It seemed to her that it 
would be better to talk to Molly before doing anything else, 
and that perhaps Molly’s own anxiety to clear herself from 
double-dealing might simplify the matter. So she said very 
gravely that she would postpone further conversation till the 
morrow. “ And then,” queried Hannington, “ will you meet 
me here?” 

She hesitated, and her lip quivered. It seemed to her al- 
most as if she partook of Molly’s blameworthiness, as if she 
would be deceiving Alan Moncrieff by consenting to meet 
John Hannington in private. But there was no other way out 
of the difficulty. She felt that she must speak to Molly before 
deciding whether to tell her father or ignore the whole affair, 
and in that case she must see Mr. Hannington again. And 
so, very reluctantly, she consented to meet him next day at five 
o’clock in the afternoon. 

Then she turned her face sadly homeward, and arrived at 
Torresmuir only just in time to dress for dinner and to meet 
her husband, who was inclined to express surprise at her being 
out so late — even for the sake of the people who lived at Tom- 
garrow. The dinner was "a tolerably cheerful one, in spile of 
the weight that lay so heavily upon the hearts of certain per- 
sons present. Alan was in an unusually lively mood, and en- 
tertained the party with some racy stories which he had learned 
during his recent visit to Edinburgh. Ralph Kingscott was 
always ready to attune himself to his brother-in-law’s mood, 
though on this occasion he looked a trifle uneasy now and 
then, and cast some furtive, anxious glances at Mrs. Moncrieff 
and his niece. Stella, eager, to hide her own discomfort, 
laughed and talked with the others, and Molly, with eyes and 
cheeks aflame, was full of almost hysterical mirth. It was 
only Bertie who seemed to suffer, and what he had to do with 
the matter Stella could not divine. He sat almost silent, 
white and downcast, scarcely touching food, and so depressed 
in manner that even his father, not usually observant, turned 
and asked him whether anything was wrong, whether he did 
not feel well, or had been annoyed in any way. There was 
nothing the matter with him, Bertie replied, with an involun- 
tary twitching of the lip and a crimson blush which made his 


120 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


father look at him anxiously for a moment or two. And then 
Alan Moncrieff sighed, knitted his brow, and went on with his 
stories as cheerily as ever. They had seldom seen him so 
jubilant. 

Of course Stella did not get a chance of speaking to Molly 
all the evening. But at night, when Alan and Ralph had gone 
to the smoking-room, she made her way, to Molly's pretty bed- 
room — a place which Mrs. Moncrieff had never penetrated since 
her marriage — and would not be sent away. Molly, with her 
ruddy gold hair all down her back in a magnificent mane, was 
writing a letter at her writing-table. She covered it up with 
a sheet of blotting-paper, and pushed it away when Stella en- 
tered the room. 

“Won't you let me speak to you, Molly?" said Stella, 
rather sadly. 

“ I don't see what you can have to say," was .Molly's hot 
response. “ I am not a baby — not a child that you can coerce, 
Mrs. Moncrieff. I am a woman, and 1 will not be interfered 
with. " 

The petulance of her tone was rather childish than woman- 
ly. “ My dear," said Stella, “I do not want to interfere. 
But your father has surely a right to know that his daughter's 
heart has been won — or rather that somebody has tried to win 
it. I am quite sure that the most honorable way would have 
been to go to your father first. " 

“ Have you told him?" 

“ No — not yet." 

“ Then you mean to betray me? 1 never thought that you* 
were so false." 

“ False, Molly? What falsity is there in telling your father 
that Mr. Hannington wishes to make you his wife? That is 
the truth, is it not?" 

“ Yes," said Molly, hanging her head and blushing hotly. 

“ Then why should he or you be ashamed to say so?" 

“We are not ashamed," said Molly, lifting her head. “ But 
we — we — were — afraid. " 

“ What were you afraid of?" 

“ Papa is sure to say that I am so young!" 

“ You are not very old, are you, Molly?" 

“ And Jack is poor." 

A sort of stab passed through Stella's heart. It was not 
that she regretted the loss of John Hannington, but the old 
pain began to throb when she heard him spoken of familiarly. 

“ If he is poor, dear, how does he mean to maintain you?" 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 121 

44 I shall have money; I am rich enough for us both,” said 
Molly, proudly. 

44 And if he were marrying you only because you were rich, 
what then, Molly?” 

The girl flamed out at once in indignant rage. 

“ You have no right to say so. Jack is not a fortune- 
hunter!” she cried. “He is noble, good, and generous in 
every way* and I will not hear a word against him. ” 

“If he is so noble and good, why did he not come to your 
father before trying to win your heart, Molly?” said Stella, 
rather mournfully. “Was it right, do you think, that he 
should gain your confidence, your affection, in this unauthor- 
ized way? ' And how long were you to go on deceiving us?” 

4 4 There was no deception about it. I love him and he loves 
me; there was no necessity for us to take all the world into our 
confidence.” 

“ Not all the world, but your father, Molly. It was not 
right, and you know it. What are we to do now?” 

44 How — what do you mean?” 

44 Am I to tell your father what I have heard and seen? or 
will you tell him all about it? or will Mr. Hannington come 
to see him?” 

44 Neither,” was Molly’s petulant answer, as she turned her 
shoulder sulkily to the questioner. 

44 Then will you give him up?” 

44 1 don’t know how you can ask me such a question, Mrs. 
Moncrieff !” 

44 One of these three ways must be chosen, Molly,” said 
Stella, rather wearily. 44 Indeed I do not want to have to tell 
your father the story; you had better tell him yourself, or in- 
duce Mr. Hannington to do so; or — better still, perhaps — give 
him up altogether — at any rate, until you are older. ” 

But at these words Molly burst into passionate tears. It 
was impossible to get her to listen any longer, and Stella at 
last quitted the room, telling her very gravely that a decision 
must be reached before twenty-four hours had passed, and 
that she had better resolve at once to inform her father of 
John Ilannington’s desire to marry her, and risk his anger 
rather than deceive him any longer. 

She sought another interview with Molly next morning, but 
the girl would not listen to reason, and shut herself up in her 
own room, refusing even to see her step-mother. Stella re- 
ceived a little note from her in the middle of the day, contain- 
ing these words only: 44 1 can never, never give him up; it is 
too much to ask of me. If he likes to speak to papa, he can; 


122 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


and if not you may do your worst. " Do her worst! The ex- 
pression wounded Stella sorely. Was she not trying hard to 
do what was best for Molly — and even for John Hannington? 

She had some difficulty in making her way to Tomgarrow 
at the appointed time; but, fortunately, the' visitors who ar- 
rived inopportunely at four o'clock did not stay very long, -and 
she reached her rendezvous at a quarter past five. She found 
Mr. Hannington looking remarkably patient and at ease; he 
was leaning against the wall smoking a cigar, and greeted her 
with an affable remark about the weather. 

“ Beautiful day, is it not, Mrs. Moncrieff? 1 began to be 
afraid that you were not coming." 

Stella took no apparent notice of this remark. But her eye 
glowed as she said, quietly: 

“ I hope you have made up your mind to go to Mr. Mon- 
crieff yourself, Mr. Hannington." 

“No, indeed, I have not. It is the last thing I intend to 
do at present," said Hannington. He did not look at her as 
he spoke; it was the only sign of grace he showed — he was a 
little ashamed to look into her face. 

“ Your watchword seems to be ‘ Secrecy/ 99 said Stella, bit- 
terly. ‘ 6 1 remember that once before you asked a girl not to 
tell her friends of your professions of attachment. Are you 
anxious to ascertain the amount of Miss Moncrieff's fortune 
before you declare yourself?" 

“ I know all about Miss Moncrieff's fortune, thank you. I 
have my own reasons for keeping silence. " 

“ I know you too well to suppose that they are good ones." 

“ You do me too much honor," said Hannington, sarcastic- 
ally. “ You seem to have given a good deal of attention to 
my character." 

“ How can you speak in that way — that heartless, way?" 
cried Stella, the tears rising to her eyes in spite of her efforts 
to check them. “ Surely you have a better self — the self that 
I thought I knew in days gone by? Was I altogether mis- 
taken? Is it really true that you care only to amuse yourself, 
or to gain something for yourself? At any rate, if you did 
not care to spare me, you might spare poor Molly — her father's 
only daughter, a motherless girl, innocent and loving and in- 
experienced! Have a little pity upon her; don't win her heart 
and throw it away! If you do not care for her, it can be no 
real trouble to you to give her up. She will soon forget you 
— for she is only a child — and you will make her life utterly 
miserable if you persist!" 

“ You are delightfully flattering, Mrs. Moncrieff. You 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


123 


don’t know how much you tell me about your own feelings 
while you plead for Molly. And you are quite wrong about 
Molly, too. She is not such a child as you fancy; &nd I do 
care for her. I assure you that I do love her, and I mean to 
make her my wife. ” 

Certainly; make her your wife if you can win her. But 
do it openly; go to Mr. Moncrieff.” 

“ In my own time and my own way . 99 

“ Unless you speak to him at once, you must not meet 
Molly again,” said Stella, bravely, although she felt as if she 
were spending her strength in vain. “ It can not be allowed. 
She shall not carry on any secret intercourse or correspond- 
ence with you; I shall prevent it.” 

“ You will have a hard task; Molly is a clever little soul.” 

“ I shall tell Mr. Moncrieff, then.” 

“ Oh, no, you won’t do that,” said Hannington, with a 
smile, “ because — you know the penalty.” 

“1 can not help it,” said Stella, turning pale, but standing 
her ground courageously. “ This thing must not go on.” 

“ You mean that you do not object,” said her companion, 
slowly, “ to my sending copies of the letters which you once 
wrote me to your husband?” 

“ Object! I do object, of course,” Stella answered, clasp- 
ing her hands tightly together in her agony of pain and fear. 
“ I dare not think of it; but it can not be helped. I must do 
right . 99 

Hannington laughed. He was really a little touched, but 
he did not wish to betray the fact. “ My dear Mrs. Mon- 
crieff, you are making much ado about nothing,” he said, 
almost kindly. “ I have not the least desire to destroy your 
domestic happiness, and you know it would be destroyed once 
and for all if I showed your husband those little documents, 
unless you had previously confessed their existence, which it 
seems you have not done! But if you cross my path I must 
take measures to protect myself. Let us compromise the mat- 
ter a little. If, at the end of a week I have not spoken to Mr. 
Moncrieff and formally proposed for Molly’s hand, then tell 
him what you choose. Grant me a week’s respite, and I’ll 
reserve the letters— perhaps I will even burn them; but give 
me a week.” 

“ A week— why a week?” said Stella,. hesitatingly. 

“For deliberation — consideration of my affairs; all that 
sort of thing. Just one week— and then the whole thing shall 
be cleared up . 99 

“ Will you promise not to see Molly during that time?” 


1U 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Hannington reflected. “ Well/ 5 he said, with some reluct- 
ance, “ I will promise if you desire it. Yes, Mrs. Moncrieff, 
I promise.” 

Stella sighed. <k I don’t know,” she said, “ whether I ought 
to yield this point; but if you will promise not to see her 
again, nor write, and at the end of the week to speak to Mr. 
Moncrieff, 1 will keep silence — until then — but only until 
then!” 

“ I will not see her again. I will not write, unless my let- 
ters go through the authorities’ hands. I will let Mr. Mon- 
crieff know everything by the end of the week. Isn’t that 
enough?” said Hannington, laughing rather oddly. “ What 
a diplomatist you would make, Stella! Come, you need not 
be offended,” he continued, as he saw her color and frown. 
“ You gave me permission to call you Stella once, you know.” 

Was it by design that he said those words so clearly? It 
was at that very moment that Stella saw two gentlemen ap- 
proaching her; they had turned the corner of the wall just as 
John Hannington spoke; it would be a miracle if they had 
not heard what he said. Stella’s face flushed crimson, and 
then became white with dismay; for the new-comers were no 
other than Ralph Kingscott and her husband, AJan Moncrieff. 
She was speechless with amaze; she felt that she looked like a 
culprit, and that haughty astonishment was written on every 
line of her husband’s handsome face. How could she explain? 
That was the question that immediately occurred to her; but 
no answer suggested itself so readily. It would be impossible 
to offer any explanation, if Alan wanted one, until the week 
was past. Until then she would have no right to tell him that 
she met John Hannington simply in order to talk with him of 
Molly; and until then, therefore, she must endure his aston- 
ishment, his perplexity, and perhaps his blame. She felt that 
her position was, for the time being, exceedingly hard. 


CHAPTER XXI. 
hahnihgton’s chakce. 

For a minute or two no member of the little group said a 
word. Then the gentlemen saluted each other very formally, 
and Mr. Moncrieff turned gravely to his wife: “ Are you com- 
ing home now?” he inquired. And as Stella nervously an- 
swered that she was coming, he offered her his arm — a very 
extraordinary proceeding on his part, at such an hour and in 
such a place; but designed, no doubt (as Hannington thought 
to himself) to show that Stella was his property, and that it 


' THE LUCK Of THE HOUSE. 125 

was Ills intention to take care of her. The husband and wife 
walked away together, leaving Kingscott and Hannington face 
to face. There was a pause, then, when the Moncrieffs were 
out of sight, Kingscott burst into subdued laughter, while 
Hanrfington fidgeted and looked sulky, as if he did not alto- 
gether like the turn that affairs were taking. 

“ Well!*' said Kingscott at last, recovering himself as he 
saw the expression on his friend's face, “ you've put your foot 
into it now. Jack, and no mistake?" 

44 What do you mean?" 

44 Did you not see Moncrieff? Were not your last words 
distinctly audible? What do you suppose he will think?" 

44 I suppose she will explain everything," said Jack, taking 
out his fusee box and lighting a cigar. His usual self-con- 
fidence seemed to have deserted him; vexation and perplexity 
were both written upon his brow. 44 It is unlucky." 

44 You think she'll tell?" asked Kingscott, significantly. 

Hannington hesitated, and took a whiff or two at his cigar. 
Then he crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, and 
allowed a faint smile to creep into his handsome dark face. 

44 She promised to say nothing for a week," he said. 44 1 do 
not know whether one may trust her to keep her word. " 

4 4 1 think you may," said Kingscott. 

44 You think she'll be too afraid of her husband to speak 
out — too timid to exculpate herself?" 

44 No, not that. She looks timid and gentle enough; but 
there is plenty of character behind that fair little face and the 
pretty blue eyes. She is quite capable of circumventing us 
all. Jack, and I am not sure that we have not made a mistake 
in taking it for granted that she would be easily frightened. 
What I rely on — and I have watched her pretty carefully dur- 
ing the last few months — is her sense of honor and her strong 
will. If she told you that she would hold her tongue for a 
week, you may confidently depend upon it that she will keep 
her word." 

44 She made a condition," said Hannington, dryly. 

44 Of course. Women always do. What was it?" 

“That I should not see Molly during the week, or com- 
municate with her, save through the higher powers. I may 
walk up to Torresmuir and offer myself as a son-in-law to 
Moncrieff, of course, if I choose to do so!" 

44 1 see. And you mean to stick to that?" 

Jack Hannington shrugged his shoulders. 44 All's fair in 
love or war," ho said, averting his eyes from Kingscott's face. 
But it was plain that he had some shrinking from the business 


126 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


in hand; some little grain of conscience made him sour. And 
Kingscott, with his usual shrewdness, divined the feeling and 
responded to it. 

“ Keep your word if you like/’ he said. “ You need not 
see Molly for the next few days. You can send letters tether, 
you say, if you send them through the higher authorities — of 
whom I am surely one I 1*11 take your letters. Jack. Trust 
them to me. ” 

“You V 9 

“ Yes; by virtue of my relationship. 4 Save through the 
higher powers/ you said. Well, am I not one of them? Have 
I no claim to be considered? I am Molly’s uncle, and — ’gad! 
I mean to have a hand in her fate.” 

Hannington uttered a short, reluctant laugh. “ So you will 
take charge of our letters? You approve of my suit? Come, 
Kingscott, tell the truth: why do you take this kindly interest 
in two romantic lovers? What do you hope to get out of us?” 

“ Well,” said Kingscott, modestly, “ I think I may hope 
for a fair share of gratitude.” 

“ Translated, I suppose, into pounds, shillings, and pence?” 

“ You put it rather coarsely. Jack. I should certainly like 
to see Molly married to a friend of my own.” 

“ I may put it coarsely, but it is just as well to be frank,” 
said Mr. Hannington. “ You will not have free quarters in 
my house, if I marry Molly, as you have had at Torresmuir.” 

“ It is kind of you to forewarn me,” said Kingscott, with 
equal coolness, “ but unnecessary; because I mean to go in for 
a little independence before long. I am tired of humoring 
Moncrieff and bowing down before Madame Stella; I am tired 
of bear-leading and keeping guard. I am going to London 
before long — but I want an income — small it may be, but 
secure. ” 

He kept his eye watchfully on Hannington as he spoke. 

“ Do you think that you will get one from me?” said Han- 
nington, sneering. 

“Oh, no. I don’t count on such generosity from you, 
Jack. Still, it occurred to me that if I could assist you now, 
and if my assistance were worth anything, you might find it 
pay you to promise me a little regular help in the future. 
Fifty pounds a year or so would not hurt you — when you have 
the handling of Molly’s fortune, you know.” 

“ You are sure about that fortune?” said his friend, a little 
uneasily. “ She gets it at her marriage?” 

“Of course.” Kingscott smiled in a rather unpleasant 
manner. “No doubt of that, my dear fellow; no doubt at 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 127 

all. 1 thought you had examined the will for yourself under 
which she inherits?” 

“No, 1 hadn't time. I am taking it on trust. If you de- 
ceive me — 99 

“ Now, really. Jack, is it to my interest to deceive you? 
What should I gain by it? I want to further your happiness 
in every possible way. It is folly of you to harbor these sus- 
picions of my good faith . 9 

Hannington threw back his head scornfully. “ Your good 
faith is so very much to be relied on! Don't you suppose 1 
have heard the stories current at Homburg and Monte Carlo? 
Don't I know that there are places in London where you 
daren't show the tip of your nose? What reason have 1 to pin 
my trust on you, I should like to know. Why, it is one 
of the greatest drawbacks Molly will have to contend with 
when she goes into the world — if it is ever known that she is 
Ralph Kingscott’s niece.'' 

“ Don't try me too far, Hannington.'' Even in the dim 
light it could be seen that Kingscott's lips were white, and 
that his pale cheek was twitching with anger or agitation. 
“ No need to rake up old stories. They were mostly lies — and 
thfey have been forgotten long ago. Besides — you are not 
blameless yourself. " 

“ 1 may have played high, and lost a good bit on the turf at 
one time or another,” said Hannington, sharply, “ but upon 
my soul, I swear I never cheated at cards. " 

Kingscott made a passionate gesture, as if he would have 
struck the man that taunted him; then he drew back his hand, 
with a look of almost inconceivable malignity. “ No,” he 
muttered, more to himself than to his companion; “ no — not 
yet. Some other way.” Then, aloud, and with recovered 
dignity, he said, calmly: 

“ Your insulting language is only pardonable when I con- 
sider that you are in a difficulty, and in trouble of mind, Han- 
nington. On that ground I am ready to overlook it, and to 
continue the offer of my services in your little love affair. Re- 
member that without me you are helpless. ” 

“ Bertie is on my side, I believe. He has brought his sister 
here several times. Bertie is on the side that 1 tell him to 
take. Bertie is under my thumb. He is too much afraid of 
some of his little money transactions coming to his father's 
ears to disobey me; He will ask my permission for anything 
he does. ” 

“ And is Molly obedient?” 

“ Molly is not obedient at all. You will find that out if 


128 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


you marry her. Do you want me to do anything for you, or 
do you not?” 

Hannington smoked steadily for some moments without an- 
swering. But when he spoke it was with unusual decision. 

“Yes,” he said, “Ido.” 

“ Letters, 1 suppose?” 

“ Letters of course. ” 

“ And — any other arrangement?” 

Again Hannington was silent. There was evidently some 
doubt, some sort of struggle going on in his mind. 

“ Look here, Kingscott,” he said at length. “ You must 
excuse me if I spoke hastily just now. I am— as you guessed 
— in some trouble — some perplexity; the fact is, I hardly know 
what to say or do next. Dm regularly done for — up a tree — 
this time; and one is naturally a bit short-tempered at such a 
conjecture. ” 

“ Oh, of course. Don’t think of it, old fellow. What’s 
wrong?” 

“ You don’t suppose,” said Hannington, who seemed in- 
capable that evening of pursuing a conversation in any con- 
nected manner, “ that Moncrielf would give his consent to his 
daughter’s early marriage?” 

“ No, I do not.” 

“ I can not afford to wait,” said the young man, almost as 
if he were ashamed of the confession. 

“ Then don’t wait,” returned Kingscott, smiling. 

“ What— make a bolt of it?” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Molly would never consent.” 

“ You don’t know much of girls if you really think so. The 
romance of the thing would delight her.” 

“ And what would Mon crieff say?” 

“ He would storm and rave, no doubt. But he would 
give in.” 

“ And even if he did not give in, there is no mistake about 
Molly’s money, I suppose? I could touch it at once? I don’t 
want to make ducks and drakes of it; but it would be a con- 
venience to get a few hundreds into one’s own hands just 
now.” 

“ I have no doubt it would,” said Kingscott to himself, and 
his mouth expanded in such a malicious grin that if Hanning- 
ton could have seen it in the darkness it might have startled 
him. But he could not see his companion’s face for the 
shadows that had fallen fast about them. And after a pause, 
Ralph answered in a tone of suave conviction: “ There is no 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


129 


mistake that I am aware of. Molly’s fortune will come into 
her hands and her husband’s hands on her marriage, if that 
takes place before she is twenty-one. So long as she is in a 
good temper and a generous mood, you never need fear pov- 
erty. The world will have its say in the matter; it will call 
you a fortune-hunter; but I suppose you don’t mind that?” 

“ Not a whit,” said Hannington, with a laugh. “ Nothing 
succeeds like success. ” 

“ If you have a clear conscience,” continued Ralph, in a 
tone of affected simplicity, “ you can afford to defy the sneers 
of worldlings base. Of course I trust in your love for my 
dear little niece, and do not wish her to be sacrificed to your 
pecuniary necessities — ” 

“ Come, Kingscott, that will do,” said John Hannington, 
decidedly. “ I don’t like that sort of thing. You know you 
don’t care a rap what becomes of your niece, and you need 
not set up to be virtuous and affectionate all of a sudden!” 

66 Exactly,” said Kingscott, changing his tone; “ but at the 
same time I should like to know, as a matter of curiosity, 
whether you are fond of Molly or not?” 

“ Molly’s a nice little girl and uncommonly fond of me. A 
man must marry some time.” 

“ That’s all, is it?” — in an under-tone. 

“ Isn’t it enough?”, exclaimed Hannington, almost savage- 
ly. “I like her — she likes me — what more can you want? A 
man never marries his first love — seldom his second or his 
third. There is nothing uncommon in my mode of proceed- 
ing, is there?” 

“ Nothing at all. I am only surprised to hear that you 
ever had a first love. Jack. Where is she, then? Was she 
rich, too?” 

“No, worse luck,” said Jack, so sullenly that Kingscott 
felt surprised, for he had not imagined that there was any 
seriousness in his comjmnion’s remark. “ Poor as a church 
mouse, confound it! Else I wouldn’t have played the fool 
with Stella Raeburn and Molly Moncrieff — you may take your 
oath of that. She was worth the whole of them put together; 
but we couldn’t afford to marry each other, and so we agreed 
to part. ” 

“ Is she married?” 

“ No. You needn’t think you’re going to worm her name 
out of me. Let the subject drop, if you please,” said Han- 
nington, flinging away the end of his cigar, and turning as if 
to go. “I don’t care to talk of it — or to think of it for that 
matter. Are you ready? It is abominably cold here.” 

n 


130 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


“You have no message for Molly ?” 

“ 1 will write, if you will take the letter to her. I’ll see 
you in Dunkeld to-morrow at noon.” 

“ You will have to be quick with your arrangements,” said 
Kingscott, slowly. “You have silenced the fair Stella for a 
week, remember; only for a week. You have a week's chance 
— that is all.” * 

“ It will be enough,” said Hannington, striding away. His 
voice was rough and hoarse; there was no inducement in his 
manner for Ralph to follow him, and accordingly that gentle- 
man looked after him with a smile, and did not attempt to 
track his footsteps. Jack went blundering along the rough 
road, stumbling now and then over stones half buried in the 
rank grass, growling to himself at the darkness of the night. 
Xingscott listened intently until the noise died away. Then 
he smiled, and ensconced himself snugly in an angle of the 
wall, where he was protected from the wind. Presently he 
took out a cigar and began to smoke. He was not cold — he 
liked the feeling of the fresh air upon his face, and he wanted 
a little quiet time in which to review the situation, which was 
by no means so clear to him as he would have liked it to be. 
If his thoughts had been translated into words, they would 
have run something after this fashion : 

“ It seems to me that I have a chance at last of doing what 
I have tried to do all these years. Success is near me now, I 
fancy; fresh complications crowd on me on all sides. 1 can 
hardly miss my aim. 

“ What is it that I have been trying to get ever since Marie 
died? A hold on that ’fool Mon crieff, with his antiquated 
notions of truth and honor and honesty; a hold on him, a 
place in his household — why? Not for his benefit, of course. 
For mine. Because I want a competency. I look forward to 
a time when 1 shall call myself master of a good round sum, 
and spend my days as I choose. For this I have wasted years 
of my life in courting Alan, and frightening his wretched son 
— alienating the man's heart from his children, and steadily 
laying up a hoard for myself. But the gains have been few; 
it is a slow process. I have not made nearly enough for my- 
self as yet, and I was just devising ways and means of increas- 
ing the spoil, when he must needs go and marry this wretched 
slip of a girl — ay, and if .1 am not mistaken fall in love with 
her too. I never was more astonished in my life. 

“ He trusts his accounts into my hands. He writes checks 
without inquiring why they are wanted. He accepts my stories 
of what is needed on the estate without a murmur. In short. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


131 


he acts like a fool. And yet — it is an odd thing — 1 never feel 
safe with him; I never feel sure that he will not wake up some 
day and ask awkward questions — and where should I be then? 
It is just that dread which has made me so moderate; which 
has kept me from plundering wholesale (as pe’ople would call 
it) — that is, which has made me content with so small a per- 
centage on my transactions with him. Why, confound the 
man! does he think that I shall do his work for nothing? or 
for the beggarly pittance that he pays me for drilling Bertie 
in his Latin grammar? lTn not such a fool. 

4 4 When he married, it certainly did seem to me as if my 
game were very nearly played out. His wife softened him to 
the children, and was instilling her own suspicions of me into 
his mind. I thought that my time at Torresmuir was likely 
to be short, and that I had better make hay while the sun 
shone. 1 think I was a little imprudent once or twice. I see 
now that 1 had no need to distrust myself. Things are work- 
ing round just as I would have them; they could not have 
been better if poor Marie had been alive to put money into my 
pocket as she used to do. In a short time I shall have mat- 
ters entirely my own way. I don’t despair of seeing Alan 
separated from his wife and parted from his children, depend* 
ent for sympathy and companionship on his faithful friend 
and brother-in-law, Ralph Kingscott, for whom he has made 
a large provision in his will, and in whose hands are the reins 
of government with respect to his estates in Scotland and Eng- 
land. That would be a fine position for me. And it is far 
from improbable — now. 

44 For now Moncrieff is fool enough to suspect his wife of 
deceit, and if he believes that she can deceive him he will 
never care for her again. Molly is on the brink of elopement, 
which he will never forgive. And if he thinks that Bertie has 
had a hand in it, he will never forgive him either. Is there 
any way of deepening his displeasure? any way of affixing a 
stain to his name that he will think can never be wiped out? 
I must consider. ” 

He considered very seriously, with his eyes fixed on the 
forms of the hills before him, now vague and shadowy in the 
faint starlight. He considered, evidently to some purpose, for 
presently he said to himself: 44 1 have it,” and laughed aloud. 
There was something weird and uncanny in the sound of that 
low laugh in the midst of the silence that reigned around. 
Even he felt the influence of the hour and of the scene; for no 
sooner had he uttered that strange laugh than he started and 


132 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

looked round, as if afraid lest any one should have heard. But 
nobody was near. 

‘‘It is growing chilly, and I have had enough of it,” he 
said at last, as he came to the end of his cigar. “ I have got 
an idea, and I think that I shall be able to work it out. It is 
odd to know that the happiness of that whole family depends 
upon me. I hold the luck of the house in my own hands — in 
more senses than one. Ay, Alan Moncriefi, little as you may 
think it, your future is a matter for me to decide, because you 
are too blind, too stupid, too proud, too honorable, as the 
world would say, to decide it for yourself. If you cast away 
your own good fortune, then it is for the first comer to pick it 
up.” 

And having uttered these enigmatic and ominous words, he 
turned away from the half-ruined clachan, and bent his steps 
once more to Torresmuir. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IN THE SNARE. 

Stella’s walk homeward with her husband was an exceed- 
ingly unpleasant one to her, and probably it was not any more 
agreeable to Mr. Moncrieff. As Hannington had noticed, Alan 
gave his wife his arm in turning away; and he was right in 
supposing that this action proceeded less from a wish to sup- 
port his wife’s steps than to show that she belonged to him, 
and to him only. There was an impulse of protection in it, 
certainly, but also an expression of wounded pride. And 
Stella was less conscious of his righteous indignation at Han- 
nington ’s familiar tone and his sudden fury of desire to defend 
her from all harm, than of the anger which she thought she 
discerned in every line of his rigidly set features and in the 
coldness of his averted eyes. She did not venture to speak for 
some time; he walked fast and did not seem to notice that she 
could hardly keep up with him. It was only when they had 
left the rough ground about the village and in the lane, and 
were out upon the smooth high-road, that Mr. Moncrieff 
paused for a moment and glanced at her with some compunc- 
tion. 

“ I have walked boo fast, I fear,” he said, politely. 

“ A little— I shall be all right directly. We are on a level 
road now,” said Stella. She would not for worlds have told 
him that her loss of breath came from fright as much as from 
undue -haste, and that her heart was beating so violently that 
she wondered whether he could not hear its throb. She with- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 133 

drew her hand gently from his arm, and stood in the road 
without speaking. 

“ Are you better now? Shall we go on?” he asked, after a 
moment's silence, in a grave but much gentler tone. 

44 Thank you. . . . Oh, Alan, don't be angry with me!” 
The words seemed wrung from her, half against her will. 

44 I do not know that I have anything to be angry about, 
Stella," said her husband. 

44 I don't think you have, Alan." 

44 Except," continued Moncrieff, in his most freezing tones, 
“except that you appear to have relations with Mr. John 
Hannington — a man whom I particularly dislike — concerning 
which you keep me in entire ignorance." 

4 4 No, indeed, Alan; at least — oh, it is very difficult to 
answer you when you put it in that way!" said Stella, the hot 
tears breaking forth. 

44 1 do not wish you to answer unless it is quite agreeable to 
yourself," said Alan, in a tone that more than ever showed 
him to be displeased. 44 1 prefer to ask no questions.” 

44 1 will tell you everything — some time," said his young 
wife, tremulously, 44 but not just now. Alan, please do not 
ask it — some other time — " 

She was hardly prepared for the exclamation that followed. 
44 There is something to tell then! Some secret? God help 
us! 1 thought I had done with secrets now, but it seems that 
all women are alike. ” 

It was on the tip of Stella's tongue to say: 44 This is not my 
secret ” — when she refrained. After all, it was partly her 
secret. Her youthful semi-engagement to John Hannington 
flashed into her mind, and made her hang her head. But for 
that, Hannington would have no hold over her, and she could 
have spoken out and been a help to Molly, a comfort to poor 
Alan. Oh, why had she not told him everything on that 
sunny day at St. Andrews, when he asked her to be his wife? 
She had never thought of it as a secret before; it had scarcely 
occurred to her that it would be wiser and better to tell him 
everything before her marriage; and now she saw that she had 
made a great, perhaps an irreparable, mistake. And just 
now, at any rate, she must hold her peace; she could neither 
clear herself, nor blame herself openly; she must be silent for 
at least another week. What a penance that week would be 
to her! Seven whole days! But seven days would end at 
last, and then she would tell her husband all. The thought 
gave her courage and serenity; she spoke with a renewed calm- 
ness that took him a little by surprise. 


134 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


4 4 Have patience with me, Alan,” she said, softly. 44 I 
think — I hope — I am not concealing anything from you for 
my own good simply. I want to do right, and to tell you 
everything; but give me a little time — 1 have a reason for not 
telling you to-day — ” 

“ I believe that you mean well, Stella.” The words fell 
coldly upon her ear. 44 1 think that you want, as you say, to 
do right. But it is possible that your judgment may be at 
fault.” There was a touch of irony in his tone. 44 You are 
young; you have not seen a great deal of the world; it might 
perhaps be wiser if you would allow your husband to judge for 
you.” 

A rush of tears blinded Stella’s eyes. The tone more than 
the words hurt and grieved her. A hundred pleas, excuses, 
cries for sympathy and trust sprung to her lips; but again she 
refrained herself. She could not say to her husband that she 
had promised not to tell him what she knew. She had given 
the promise without thinking of all that it would involve; and 
she writhed in its bonds like one taken by guile in a cruel 
snare. 

Alan waited for her to speak — waited more anxiously than 
she knew; but when no word issued from her lips, he folded 
himself all the more closely in his cloak of reserve and pride. 
Bor a few minutes the two walked on in silence — broken only 
by Alan when he swung open for his wife the heavy gate that 
led into the grounds of Torresmuir. 

44 You will follow your own judgment, of course,” he said, 
in a tone of great gravity and coldness. 44 1 do not attempt to 
force your confidence. One thing, however, I can hardly pass 
by without remark. You may at some past time, in an un- 
guarded moment, have given Mr. Hannington the right to 
call you by your first name; but you must now make him un- 
derstand that in future you are 4 Mrs. Moncrieff/ and not 
4 Stella/ to any but your friends.” 

If he expected any answer to that speech, he was disap- 
pointed. In the darkness, Stella felt her face tingle with the 
hottest blush of shame that she had ever known. For some- 
thing in his voice had recalled to her that little incident on 
the steamer at the Dundee wharf of which he had been a spec- 
tator; and the kiss that John Hannington had pressed upon 
her hand before he said good-bye seemed to bum -her fingers 
still as she remembered the steady gaze of Alan Moncrieff ’s 
cool and critical eyes. It had almost slipped from her mem- 
ory until now. How was it that she had forgotten, and that 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

135 

he had never questioned her? It was not his way to question; 
Stella knew that too well! 

She stood still for a moment or two, feeling as if she were 
deprived* of the power of movement as well as of speech. Her 
husband glanced at her keenly — the light of a lamp above the 
gate had let him into the secret of that burning blush — and 
then turned away, considerately anxious to spare her feelings 
as much as possible. When he was a few yards in advance of 
her, Stella’s strength returned. She made the best of her way 
to the front door, but she did not look at or speak to her hus- 
band again. She felt inexpressibly grieved, hurt, distressed; 
but she was incapable of defending herself in the present situ- 
ation of affairs. 

She went up to her own room to rest for awhile before din- 
ner, and was half inclined to send word that she would not 
come down again; but on reflection she felt 'herself scarcely 
justified in disorganizing household arrangements simply be- 
cause she felt troubled and depressed. She had great difficulty 
in suppressing tears even while the maid was helping her to 
‘dress, and when she came down-stairs the effort which she had 
been making caused her to look so white and weary that Ealph 
Kingscott (who had managed to arrive home and dress with 
superhuman celerity) made a slightly malicious remark on her 
appearance. 

“ Your walk was too much for you, 1 fear?” he said, with 
mock politeness. 

Stella looked at him without answering. For the first time 
it crossed her mind that he was perhaps responsible for her 
husband’s inopportune appearance upon the scene while she 
was talking to John Hannington. She did not quite know 
why this thought occurred to her; it was one of those guesses, 
those flashes of intuition, by which women sometimes read the 
course of events so clearly as to surprise slower- witted mascu- 
line minds. Ealph saw that he was suspected, and said noth- 
ing more. 

The evening was dull. Mr. Moncrieff scarcely spoke, and 
the rest of the family followed his example. Stella at last 
went to the piano and began playing the soft, melancholy airs 
which she knew that her husband loved, as her father had 
done before. But in the very midst of his favorite melody 
Alan got up and walked out of the room. Stella went on 
playing, but her eyes filled with tears, and the heart seemed 
to have gone out of her music. 

It was well for her peace of mind that she did not hear a 
conversation, that passed between Alan - and his brother-in-law 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 

at a later period in the evening. The two men went into the 
smoking-room together. Alan threw himself into a low easy- 
chair, crossed his arms, and fell at once into a deep reverie. 
Kingscott noticed it as a bad sign that he did not begin to 
smoke. He himself selected a fine cigar with great care, and 
lighted it in a peculiarly deliberate manner before speaking. 
Then he said, quietly: 

44 Don't you want to hear what Hannington said to me?" 

44 No," said Moncrieff, with an impatient movement of his 
head. 

Kingscott studied his face attentively in the pause that fol- 
lowed. 44 1 am sorry to trouble you," he said, at length, in 
his coolest and most caressing accents, 44 but I think that it is 
my duty to speak — and yours to listen. " 

44 1 am not sp sure of that," said Alan, frowning. 44 How- 
ever " — with a sigh — 44 what must be must; and if I am to 
hear, let me at any rate get it over quickly. What do you 
want to say?" 

44 Your wife — " 

44 1 would rather not hear anything against my wife." 

Kingscott raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. 
44 My dear Alan, I would not say anything against your wife 
for the world. I have the very greatest admiration and re- 
spect for her. What on earth makes you think that 1 meant 
to say anything to her discredit?" 

44 1 don’t know; I beg your pardon, Ralph." 

44 Should you not rather beg your Wife's?" said Mr. Kings- 
cott, with a decorous air of offended virtue, which might have 
amused an impartial observer if one had been by to see. Alan 
only heaved another great sigh by way of answer, and then 
leaned with his elbows on his knees, and his hand in an arch 
over his eyes — the attitude of a man in pain or trouble of some 
kind. 44 Go on," he said, at last, when the silence had been 
protracted for- some minutes. 

44 It seems," said Kingscott, carelessly, 44 that she and Han- 
nington were engaged before she left Dundee." 

A sort of start ran through Alan's whole ’frame, but he did 
not look up. 

44 She has that curious sort of shame and dislike to the sub- 
ject which many women show on the subject of their first 
loves," Ralph went on, in the tone of a dispassionate judge, 
44 and she seemed to fancy that Jack Hannington had kept her 
letters, and that she might get them back in a personal inter- 
view." 

44 It was a planned thing, then — this meeting?" 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


137 


“ Oh, yes.” 

“ She wrote to him, perhaps, to meet her there?” 

“ I could not say, really. There are always plenty of op- 
portunities for a woman, if she wants secret interviews — 
especially when a woman has as much freedom as you accord 
your wife. ” 

“ Yes,” groaned Alan, uncovering his face, which had 

f rown white as death. “ I have never been hard on her, have 
, Ralph? You used to think me hard on poor Marie; but 
Stella — Stella— never. 1 was never harsh or unkind to Stella, 
1 am sure.” There was a strange tone of repressed anguish 
in his voice. 

4 4 Unkind! Certainly not,” said Kingscott, as if he did not 
see the point of his brother-in-law's remark. 44 Why should 
you have been unkind? You are generosity and gentleness it- 
self ; few women can have so ideally perfect a life as Stella, 
just as few women can be as sweet and lovely as she is. No 
wonder she had admirers before her marriage.” 

Alan set his teeth. 44 Did Hannington keep her letters?” 
he inquired, with a low voice. 

44 1 don't know, I am sure. He did not say, and I did not 
like to ask.” (Kingscott had no scruples about telling a false- 
hood, when he thought it ivould serve his turn.) 44 1 suppose 
the conversation was not finished when we came up. ” 

4 4 , What made you take me that way, Ralph? Had you any 
idea — any suspicion?" 

44 Good Heaven, no, Alan! I went in that direction quite 
casually. It is a short cut, you know. Why, if I had 
thought that a private interview was going on, of course I 
should have avoided the place. Not but what it was a harm- 
less interview enough, no doubt. Women are a little nervous 
and cowardly sometimes, you know; I fancy that your wife 
imagined that poor Hannington might send you the documents 
to look at. ” 

44 1 have no doubt the letters contained only what was per- 
fectly justifiable,” said Moncrieff, with a somewhat distant air. 
He would not hear Stella slighted, he told himself, although 
his heart was wrung with jealous pain and rage. 44 Of course, 
if she was engaged to him—” 

“We must make allowance for women's whims,” said 
Kingscott, laughing. 44 The letters are probably rather ten- 
der effusions, and she is ashamed of them now. Pope says 
that 4 every woman is at heart a rake.' I am quite sure that 
every woman is. at heart a flirt; so we need not be surprised 
even if Hannington. was dismissed rather unceremoniously—” 


138 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Good-night, Ralph,” said Alan, suddenly rising from his 
chair. “ I think I won’t hear any more, thanks. Stella is 
going to tell me the whole story herself, and I would rather 
hear it from her. ” 

“ I won’t anticipate the recital/’ answered Kingscott, with 
a careless smile. “ Are you going? Good-night.” 

Alan left the room, shutting the door behind him. But al- 
most immediately Kingscott crept toward it, opened it again 
very softly, and iistened. The sound of Alan’s footsteps told 
him that he was hot yet going upstairs. Mr. Moncrieff went 
to his private study, and locked himself in. Kingscott heard 
the key turn in the lock, and nodded with secret satisfaction. 
Then he closed the door, and walked back to the table, where 
he stood for some minutes smiling to himself as he mixed a 
glass of hot whisky and water for his own delectation. ‘ 4 1 
think the poison works,” he said to himself, as he slowly 
stirred the sugar into the hot mixture, and held the glass to 
the light before tasting the contents: 

“ I think the poison works.” 

The poison worked indeed. Alan Moncrieff’s mind was 
thrown into a state of indescribable agitation by the half -true, 
half -false report • of Stella’s doings which Kingscott had 
brought to him; and, although he fully believed that his wife 
meant ultimately to tell him the whole truth, yet he had a 
feeling of distaste, of repulsion, almost of positive disgust, at 
the thought of her former attachment to Hannington. His 
faith in her candor and uprightness was rudely shaken. If 
she had been engaged to any man before she knew him, if she 
had written letters — “ tender effusions,” as Ralph called them 
— to any man, she ought to have let him know. She had de- 
ceived him, he said to himself, bitterly; and the only redeem- 
ing point about the whole business was her determination (as 
he understood it) to tell him the story in a few days. For 
what else could she have to tell him? The notion that her 
communication might refer to Molly and not to herself never 
crossed his mind. She meant to tell him — “ some time,” she 
had said. Some time! He would hold her to that; it was 
better than nothing. He would give her a few days’ grace, 
and then he would have the truth from her, black and bitter 
as it might be. 

Stella was painfully conscious of the change in his manners 
during the next few days. It was as though he were holding 
himself back, trying to be patient and courteous while suffer- 
ing from a constant sense of injury and anger. A sort of half- 
suppressed irritation and resentment showed itself in his man- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


139 


ner. She could not understand it. She knew that she had 
vexed him by her refusal to divulge the secret of her interview 
with John Hannington, but she felt that he ought to trust her 
a little — especially when she had said that she would tell him 
everything by and by. 

She spoke gently and sympathetically to Molly, telling her 
that she had promised Mr. Hannington a week's grace, and 
that she hoped he would then speak to Mr. Moncrieff. Molly 
tossed her graceful head, and looked at her step-mother with 
scornful eyes. 

“ Of course you will do what you can to separate us/' she 
said. 

“ What makes you say so, Molly? If your father approves 
1 shall approve too. " 

“ But you will do your utmost to prejudice my father's 
mind; I know that!" cried Molly, flushing to the roots of her 
hair. “ I understand it all; Jack told me." 

“ Told you — what?" asked Stella, as the girl hesitated. 
But Molly would not speak. She grew redder and redder, 
hung her head like a bashful child, and turned away. Stella 
could only conjecture that some 'garbled version of her ac- 
quaintance with John Hannington had been poured into her 
ear. 

An air of gloom and mystery seemed to have settled over 
the household. No two persons were happy in each other's 
company. Misunderstandings abounded on every side. The 
whole family appeared to be at cross-purposes — the most dis- 
agreeable state in which a family can possibly be. Stella and 
Bertie were more comfortable together than any other couple; 
and they, by tacit consent, avoided all themes which might 
breed perplexity or discussion. Bertie was under the impres- 
sion that Molly's intercourse with Hannington had been broken 
off; and although he had not known much of it, he had known 
enough to make him vaguely uneasy. He felt genuine relief 
in the conviction that Molly was no longer carrying on clan- 
destine relations with a man whom his father so thoroughly 
disliked. 

At the same time he was a little puzzled by the new friend- 
liness which seemed to obtain between Molly and IJncle Ralph. 
He came upon them once or twice in deep converse; once he 
was certain that he saw his uncle hand her a letter, and he 
knew that they went for long walks together— but, after all, 
there was nothing so remarkable in these facts as to cause 
suspicion that anything was wrong. It was only that Bertie 
knew his uncle well enough to suspect liis motives in every 


140 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

action of life; and that he did not trust too much to Molly. 
He did not like to confide his suspicions to Stella — who, per- 
haps, might have been set on her guard if she had but known 
them in time; he could only resolve to wait and watch for 
further developments. 

It struck him as odd, when he went into the Octagon Room 
one day, that Ralph was standing in the middle of the room, 
with a ring in his hand which he was idly fitting on his little 
finger. As soon as he saw Bertie he thrust his hand into his 
pocket, so as to conceal the ring, and asked rather fiercely 
what he was doing there. 

“ It is the room in which I usually sit,” -said Bertie, with a 
touch of cool dignity which struck Ralph instantly as some- 
thing fresh in his manner, “ and I don't know why I should 
keep out of it. Why have you got Molly's ring?'' 

“ Molly's ring? I have not got any ring of Molly's; what 
do you mean, -sir?” 

“ 1 mean the ring that you had on your finger,” said Ber- 
tie, steadily. “ A ring with one red stone set with brilliants. 
I saw it as I came into the room. ” 

“ You are quite mistaken,” said Kingscott, suddenly re- 
covering his coolness. “ The ring I am wearing never be- 
longed to Molly at all; it was an heir-loom in our family, and 
1 was trying it on in sheer absence of mind. I wish, my dear 
boy, that you would mind your own business. '' 

And then he left the room, but — as Bertie noticed — without 
offering to convince him of his mistake by showing him the 
ring, which must have hung very loosely on his finger, for he 
drew his hand out of his pocket without it. 

These vague suspicions, these sensations of something un- 
explained, sufficed to make Bertie wakeful for the next two 
nights. As he lay sleepless, he could not rid himself of the 
idea that there were strange sounds in the house, stealthy 
footsteps going to and fro, a light gleaming for a moment 
where no light should be. On the second night this impression 
was so strong that he got up and partly dressed himself; then 
opened his door softly and went out into the corridor, where 
the struggling moonlight lay in fitful gleams upon the polished 
floor. He had armed himself with a revolver — a pretty, 
dangerous toy, which he had bought in London, and was 
boyishly proud of keeping loaded beside his bed. 

Bertie went up and down the passage, looked into one or 
two rooms, stood and listened intently, but could hear nothing 
more. He had fancied that burglars might be in the house. 
Wanting as he might be in moral courage, Bertie was phys- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


141 


ically no coward* His blood warmed at the thought of a hand- 
to-hand encounter with robbers. He might, die fancied, win 
back his father’s trust and affection if he displayed striking 
bravery and presence of mind. He felt something like a thrill 
of positive satisfaction when at last he was certain that he did 
hear a footstep, that he did see a glimmer of light beneath the 
door of his father’s study — where no- light was usually to be 
seen between tha hours of one and two in the morning. He 
drew back into a dark recess and waited for the footsteps that 
were drawing near. 

The study door opened, a flash of light came forth. It 
came from a lantern in a man’s hand, and the light gleamed 
upon the man’s face as he walked. Bertie started; his revolver 
nearly fell from his hand as he looked. This was no robber, 
then? — merely Ralph Kingscott, who had been wandering 
about the house by night, after his well-known, uncanny 
fashion. He had a roll of papers in his hand, and his face was 
pale; his eyes gleamed in a restless way as he glanced furtively 
from side to side. 

Bertie drew back as far as possible. At that moment he 
did not want to confront his uncle. Relations between the 
two had been somewhat strained during the last few days. He 
was lucky. Ralph stopped and extinguished his lantern before 
he reached the dark recess. If he had kept it alight, he would 
have seen his nephew’s shrinking figure as he passed down the 
corridor. He went to the Octagon Room; thence, as Bertie 
knew, he could pass into his own apartments. Some impulse 
urged him to follow. He made his way softly and stealthily 
to the Octagon Room, holding his loaded revolver firmly in 
one hand. 

The Octagon Room was dark. The door into the tower 
stood open, and a breath of cold night air blew on Bertie’s 
face as he approached it! he knew what that meant. The 
door from Ralph’s room into the garden must be open too. 
Voices fell suddenly upon, his ear. He stopped to listen, for 
surely one of them at least was well known to him. Molly; 
what could Molly be doing in Uncle Ralph’s room at that 
hour of the night? And there was Kingscott’s voice, and an- 
other — whose? not John Hannington’s? What did this mean? 

A burning tide of indignation rushed through Bertie’s veins. 
He dashed forward, hardly knowing what he did. He had a 
glimpse of a dimly lighted room; of Molly in her hat and 
cloak, holding by a man’s arm, of Ralph Kingscott’s furious 
look. The light was suddenly blown out: there came a cry, a 
scuffle; the sound of a loud report as the revolver was wrenched 


142 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


out of his hand and fired — by whom he could not tell. A 
heavy blow was planted well between his eyes; there was a 
moment of bewildering pain, of flickering lights, confusing 
noises, quivering nerves and then came the blackness and 
silence of complete unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

NEMESIS. 

Glasgow on a dull, dreary, drizzling day; Glasgow with 
east wind in full predominence, with pavement deep in mud, 
with lamps lighted in the streets at four o'clock in the after- 
noon, although the month was April, and in the country, at 
least, the daylight hours began to lengthen pleasantly. But 
the great city was wrapped in gloom, and the cheerlessness of 
the day was reflected in the countenances of those unlucky 
persons whom business (it could not have been pleasure) 
obliged to be abroad. 

A gentleman passing along Bath Street, however, did not 
seem to share in the prevalent gloom. He was holding his 
handsome dark head high; there was a glow in his eye and in 
his face which rendered him evidently independent of sur- 
rounding circumstances; he looked like a man w 7 ho had just 
carried out a lucky coup , and had secured for himself some- 
thing that was worth winning. Withal, there was defiance in 
his air; he was at war with mankind, with himself, with God, 
perhaps; he felt himself to be fortunate, and he was yet not 
entirely happy. He was certainly little in the mood to notice 
the people whom he passed in the street; hence it was, doubt- 
less, that he did not catch sight of a lady who was standing 
with her maid on the steps of a highly respectable family 
hotel, patiently waiting until the door should be opened to her 
knock. With that look of high excitement on his face it was 
not likely that he would see even an old acquaintance like 
Lady Valencia Gilderoy. 

But Lady Val was not to be discouraged. She uttered an 
exclamation, then ran lightly down the steps, pursued the un- 
observant gentleman, and touched him on the arm. 

“ Wliat have I done that you should cut me. Jack?" she 
said. 

John Hannington stopped and stared violently. All the 
glow went suddenly out of his face. He did not speak. 

“ You look as if you had seen a ghost," said Lady Valencia. 

“ I have," he answered, rather hoarsely. “ The ghost of — 
of other days. " Then he laughed, offered her his hand, and 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 143 

went on as if to efface the memory of his words. “ Where are 
you staying. Lady Yal? Or, surely, you are not staying any- 
where? You are the last person that 1 should expect to see in 
a Glasgow street.” 

“ Am I not?” said Lady Val, laughing in her turn, but in 
a gayer fashion than he had laughed. “ 1 have had business 
in Glasgow. Perhaps that is also the last thing that you ex- 
pected to hear? Such business. Jack! It is settled uow, thank 
goodness; and if you can give me a few minutes Fll tell you 
all about it; you will be as glad as 1 am, I fancy, when you 
know!” — and she looked up at him with shining eyes, ancT 
wondered vaguely why he turned away and said nothing. 

“ Can you spare me ten minutes?” she continued. “ It is~ 
the greatest piece of luck I ever experienced — save one — meet- 
ing you here in the street, as if you had fallen from the skies! 
1 was just wishing to see you; I really have some news to im- 
part, and you are going t.o listen to me, are you not?” 

“ I have not very much time to spare, 1 am sorry to say. 
Lady Yal.” Hannington was visibly embarrassed. 

She stared at him and then laughed again — she would not 
be repelled. “ It's the first time you were ever rude to me. 
Jack; it is going to be the last, I hope. Come, you can’t be 
so very busy as not to be able to give me ten minutes or so.” 

“ Oh, no: I can even give you half an hour,” said Han- 
nington, recovering himself, and smiling back into her face 
almost frankly. “ I have some news for you too; but mine 
will keep.” 

“And mine won’t: that is all the difference. Now turn 
back with me. That is my maid .on the steps: old Grimsby — 
isn’t it an appropriate name? See how grim she looks. She 
does not approve of my running after you in the street. We 
are to stay until seven o’clock at this hotel, and at seven my 
sister will call for me and fetch me away from this Babel of a 
city. We have been here for three days transacting business, 
and now the business is done.” 

“ Is Mrs. Lennox then with you?” said Jack, only half 
comprehending the purport of her words, as she ascended the 
steps before him. 

“ No, she is having afternoon tea with some people that I 
hate, in George Square, and I declared absolutely and otyce for 
all that I would not go with her. Come this way. ” And 
Lady Valencia inducted her guest into a private sitting-room, 
away from the street and the occasional spurts of bustle in the 
entrance hall; and in this room they found a bright fire, some 


144 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


cozy-looking chairs and a sofa, and tea laid for two on a small 
table drawn close up to the hearth. 

“ Ah, that looks comfortable,” said her ladyship, briskly, 
“ and now, Grimsby, you can take my hat, and bring in the 
tea-pot and the scones. Jack, you and I will have a delight- 
ful little tea all to ourselves, and if Grimsby doesn't think it 
strictly proper, why, she won't tell, and neither must you.” 

The grim maid’s lips relaxed into rather a sour smile as she 
took her mistress's wrappings, and Lady Yal glanced at Jack, 
expecting to find a laughing answer ready. But, to her sur- 
prise, Hannington's face had grown gloomy: his impenetrable 
dark eyes were lighted by neither mirth nor pleasure, and he 
<*was pulling at his long black mustache with what she per- 
ceived to be a rather nervous hand. Moreover, he stood up 
on the hearth-rug in a constrained and formal attitude which 
astonished her — well as she knew John Hannington, there was 
something in his demeanor which perplexed her now. 

But she was a clever woman in her way, and she thought it 
wisest to see nothing, so for the next few moments she busied 
herself at the tea-table, scolded Grimsby in a light, bright, 
cheerful style, scoffed at the weather, the streets, the hotel, 
and allowed her guest to recover his self-possession and his 
gayety as best he might. Her treatment was perfectly suc- 
cessful. When Grimsby had retired, and Lady Yal had given 
him a cup of tea — made exactly as he liked it, by the bye, for 
she had long ago learned his tastes by heart — and when she 
had established herself in a low chair by the fire, and he stood 
looking down upon her from his position on the rug, with his 
arm on the mantel-piece — then the clouds began to clear away 
from his brow, and he smiled a little at her lively sallies and 
regarded her with the old admiration in his eyes. 

Was it his fancy, or was she really handsomer than ever? 
The glancing fire-light was favorable to her appearance, be- 
cause the mingling shadow and shine concealed the slight lines 
that care had begun to trace upon her brow and emphasized 
the color in her cheek, the splendor of her eyes, the massive 
coils of her raven hair. Then her dress was exceedingly be- 
coming to her figure and complexion : it was of a deep Indian 
red, trimmed with a good deal of dull gold Eastern embroidery 
about the body and close-fitting sleeve. Hannington vaguely 
notice^ that she had been careful that every adjunct of her 
attire should be in keeping: that even the stones in her brooch 
and her rings were red, and that the one gold bracelet which 
she wore was a serpent with ruby eyes, that the dainty slippers 
which she had retired for a moment to don were embroidered 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


145 


very finely with small ruby-colored beads. He was a man on 
whom such small details were not lost, and he liked them to 
be complete. Lady Yal had always satisfied his taste better 
fiian any woman he knew. 

He was thinking this, as he stbod and looked at her in the 
ire-light, when suddenly she lifted her dark eyes and met his 
gaze. Involuntarily he drew'back into the shadow. But she 
cid not draw back; she only laughed in her frank, gay, yet 
(puigmatic fashion. 

“ Well, Jack, are you better; ready to hear my news now?// 
! “ Yes, 1 am better. A cup of your tea and the sight of 
jbur face have refreshed me wonderfully.” 

iShe held up a warning finger. “ No compliments, sir! I 
have a weightv communication to make to you. Will you 
Men?” 

y Forever!” 

He intended it only as idle compliment, and as such Lady 
Yal had always accepted the half -jesting devotion that he had 
offered her for so many years; but on this occasion her eyes 
fell land her face flushed as if she had taken it more seriously 
thairusual. 

“Only for five minutes, at present!” she said, with tho 
whin^icality of tone which he was accustomed to associate 
with \er utterances. “ Then, my dear Jack, you can judge 
as to whether you would like to hear more. It is a matter of 
law am business, and 1 shall want to have your advice. Do 
you knW much about stocks and investments in general?” 

“ Not so much as I should know if I had anything of my 
own to iivest,” said Hannington, laughing. ' “ Is your lady- 
ship abort to speculate?” 

“ Yes, Weed; and in a very hazardous way. ” 

Let i\e advise you not to do that. Consult your lawyer 

first. 

I prefer to consult you. Would you help me?” 
Jtainly, if it were in my power.” 
it that you would. You were always a friend of 
mine, weretft you. Jack? Friends through thick and thin we 
have been, ater all, have we not?” t 

“ I hope k” said Hannington, uneasily. “ What do you 
mean, Lady Val? There is nothing — I hope — likely to sever 
our friendship just now, is there?” In his heart he thought 
there was, anUie dreaded to hear it from her lips. 

“ Oh, no, lVon*t think so,” Lady Yal responded, briskly. 
She touched hV eyelids with the cobweb handkerchief which 
had been relinkin' her lap— was it possible that they had been 



146 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


moist with unshed tears? — and went on in her usual rapid 
manner. “ I was only afraid that you might resent something 
that 1 had done; and I thought that I would make open con- 
fession to you when 1 had the opportunity. Look here. Jack; 
you have been making love to Alan Moncrieff's pretty daugh- 
ter, have you not? And Mrs. Moncrieff has been putting a 
spoke in the wheel — eh?” 

“ She tried to do so.” 

“ I expect that she will be successful,” said Lady Yal, with 
a laugh which showed some nervousness; “ and if she is, I 
sha'n't be sorry.” 

The words which Hannington had been about to utter sudr 
denly died upon his lips. 

“ Did you never wonder who told her? It was 1. People 
had begun to talk about poor Molly's meetings with you. Jack, 
so I went to Mrs. Mon crieff and put her on her guard. J lid 
not mention you by name; but I suppose she found you oiu?” 

“Yes, she did. May I ask whether you call that a frierdly 
act — to try to defeat my schemes in that way?” 

“ Yes, I do. And when you know all the circumstances, 1 
think that you will own that it was. I would have spoken to 
you if I could have got hold of you, but you carefully absented 
yourself from me all the time. ” 

“ You know why,” said Hannington, sullenly. 

Lady Val's eye glittered. “ Do I know why?” she jsked. 

“ Of course you do. You are the only woman in the world 
that I eyer cared for — I have told you that twenty tines, and 
I tell it you once again. If I had seen much of youthen, do 
you think that Molly would have held me for a moment? You 
had only to hold up your little finger, and say ‘ Cone!' ” 

“ Oh, no, I hadn't. Jack,” she said, softly. “ Tiere was a 
very good reason for our holding apart, you know. vV e agreed 
that neither of us could afford to marry a poor pe:son. Was 
not that the case?” 

“ I suppose so,” he said, sighing very genuinely. “ It would 
have suited neither of us — you less even than myslf. ” 

“ I don't know that. I should have made a capital poor 
man's wife, I believe* I should have liked very veil to scrub 
the floors, and make the puddings, and darn th> stockings: I 
have no dislike to poverty at all.” 

“ You are never likely to be tried.” 

“No,” Lady Val answered, still softly, bn with an odd 
little smile. “Iam never likely to be tried.” 

“ I know what it is,” said Hannington, t'king a step to- 
ward her, and contracting his dark brows as le spoke. “.You 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


147 


want to tell me that you are going to be married — some mill- 
ionaire has asked you to be his wife, and this is the fashion in 
which you announce your marriage! “ I wish you joy. Lady 
Valencia: and I congratulate you on your success. We have 
both been fortunate/’ 

“ Don’t be cross. Jack” — very gently — 44 no millionaire has 
asked me to marry him yet.” 

44 But you are going to be married?” 

44 Perhaps.” 

44 Then my congratulations — ” 

44 Oh, how stupid you are!” she said, getting up from her 
low chair and standing before him — so close that she touched 
him with her dress, with her arm, with her filmy little hand- 
kerchief, as she spoke. 44 Do listen to the news that I have to 
tell you, and don’t make all these silly guesses beforehand. 
First and foremost, will you' forgive me for what I did about 
Molly, if I can prove to you that I was acting in your interest 
all along, and have been justified by the event?” 

44 Certainly,” he said, and,' yielding to temptation, he took 
the white hand which grasped the handkerchief into his own. 
44 I’ll forgive you, too, without hearing your excuses.” 

44 No, I don’t want you to do that.” She let her hand stay, 
in his; her breath came and went a little more quickly than 
usual. 44 You may have heard an old story about an uncle of 
mine who made an enormous fortune in America many years 
ago. There was a lawsuit about his moneys it has been going 
on for some time, and none of us thought that we should ever 
benefit by what he left. We have gained the case.” 

44 1 saw that in the papers. Also, that the costs of the pro- 
ceedings had swallowed up nearly all the fortune.” 

Lady Val laughed. 44 Nearly — not quite. Some land was 
left. Well, on this very piece of land our agents have 4 struck 
ile,’ as they call it: there’s petroleum flowing night and day, 
I believe, and producing piles of money, all for my brother, 
my sister, and me. The’’ old man’s will provided that we 
should share and share alike, you know. I suppose that 1 
myself shall soon be a millionairess, if there is such a word. 
What do you think of that. Master Jack? Oh, Jack, I’m so 
glad!” 

She stretched out both her hands to him. There was the 
loveliest look of joy and tenderness in her eyes. Hannington 
held her hands, but made no other sign. He was growing 
white about the lips. 

44 Do you see. Jack?” she went on. 44 1 was hoping that 
this would come true; and I did not want you to throw your- 


148 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


self away on a child like Molly Moncrieff for the sake of her 
trumpery little fortune. Did we not always say that when 
either of us was rich we would share with the other? That is 
what I meant, Jack, because you know you always said that 
you cared for me, and that if only I were not poor, you would 
be happy with me as your wife. It is not exactly the right 
thing for me to say this, is it, dear? But things are so upside 
down and so very like a fairy tale, that I feel as if I had the 
right to reverse our respective roles — and make you the pro- 
posal!” But, in spite of her brave words, she blushed very 
deeply as she spoke. 

“ Why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you tell me this 
before?” said Jack, wringing her hands wildly in his own 
without thinking what he did. “ Oh, Yal, if I had but 
known!” 

“ But what difference does it make?” said Lady Val, with 
wide-open, unsuspicious eyes. “ I could not tell you then be- 
cause I was not sure — indeed, I did not know till within the 
last few days that the oil springs had turned out so well. 
And, of course, you could not pursue your scheme about Molly 
— you see; I can guess the reason why you made love to her; 
and, indeed, Jack, I think you are behaving very badly — and 
why do you hurt my hands so? What is the matter with you. 
Jack?” 

He dropped her hands suddenly. 

“ What do you mean by saying that 1 could not pursue my 
scheme?” 

“ Not after I had spoken to Mrs.- Moncrieff and told her of 
your meetings with Molly — why, of course you could not, be- 
cause that was the very thing that would vex Alan Moncrieff 
beyond everything.” 

“ And why on earth should I care whether Moncrieff was 
vexed or not? For Heaven's sake, come to the point. ” 

Lady Yal looked at him full in the face and bit her lip. 

“ If } r ou wanted to marry the girl for her money, Mr. Mon- 
crieff 's vexation is very much to the point. You see I am not 
giving you the credit of supposing that you wished to marry 
her for love; and, considering how I used to preach up the 
necessity of marrying for money, I can't say much against it 
to you, Jack, but I don't think it right, after all. And you 
know, of course, that Molly won't be able to touch a farthing 
of her money until she is twenty-one, if she marries without 
her father's consent. As she is barely eighteen now, it would 
hardly suit you to marry her and wait three years in poverty, 
would it?” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


149 


She was startled by the ejaculation that fell from Hanning- 
ton’s lips. 

“ I have ruined myself for nothing, then!” he exclaimed. 

She looked at his pale face and frowning brows, and a faint 
suspicion began to creep into her mind. 

“ What have you done?” she asked. 

He turned toward her and caught her in his arms. 

“I never knew till to-day that you cared for me, Val,” he 
# said. “ If I had known— oh, my God, how different life would 
have been for both of us! Kiss me, darling — just once; kiss 
me and tell me that you love me, I have loved you all these 
years, and tried hard to fight it down. You are the only 
woman in the world, as I have often told you, that 1 ever 
loved!” 

She was not frightened by the hoarsely spoken words, by the 
rough embrace, or the man’s passion of love and grief — passion 
such as she had never thought him capable of before. She 
lifted her face and allowed him to press his lips to hers for 
one moment of mingled bliss and agony. Then she drew her 
face away. 

“ There!” she said. “ Yes, I love you. Jack, with all my 
heart, and 1 always have loved you, and I have always clone 
my best, as far as I knew it, for your welfare. It is because I 
love you that I don’t want you to do or say anything now that 
you may live to regret. So tell me plainly what all this 
means.” 

“It means, Val,” groaned Hannington, heavily, “that — 
although I loved you — 1 married Molly Moncrieff this morn- 
ing, and that she is here in Glasgow with me.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE EVIDENCE. 

The household at Torresmuir had been aroused at dead of 
night by noises which were as alarming as they were mysteri- 
ous. A cry, a scuffle, and a pistol shot, followed (as some of 
the servants declared) by the sound of hastily retreating foot- 
steps and carriage wheels along the road, caused much excite- 
ment, and it was generally thought that the place had been 
entered by burglars who had been disturbed at their work. 
This theory was at first corroborated by the fact that Mr. 
Moncrieff, on proceeding to the tower, found the doors open, 
and his son and brother-in-law lying incapacitated on the floor 
of Kingscott’s sitting-room. Bertie was quite unconscious: he 
seemed to have been stunned by a severe blow on the head; 


150 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


and Kingscott’s left arm was found to be broken, and even 
shattered, by a shot from the revolver, which, as Moncrieff 
noted with surprise, bore Bertie’s name engraved upon it, and 
could not, therefore, be a burglar’s weapon! He was alarmed 
also to find that Ralph was for so long unconscious, and ap- 
parently unable to give any account of the affray: it was quite 
ten or fifteen minutes before anything intelligible could be ex- 
tracted from him, and Moncrieff was somewhat puzzled by this 
curious inability to speak. As a matter of fact, Ralph Kings* 
cott was too wary to come to himself as soon as he might have 
done. He did not want to put Moncrieff on the track of his 
friend Hannington; and the longer pursuit could be delayed, 
the greater chance had Hannington of getting clear away. 
Search was of course made at once in the grounds and woods 
about the house, but nobody could be found, and it was some 
time before one of the maids declared that she had heard the 
sound of wheels on the high-road. 

“ Wheels! Of a cart, do you think?” Mr. Moncrieff asked 
her. 

“ It was heavier than a cart, sir. It was mair like a car- 
riage and pair. ” 

“Nonsense!” Mr. Moncrieff said, impatiently. “What 
would a carriage and pair be doing there at that hour of the 



Strange to say, however, the gardener, whose cottage was 
close to the road, corroborated the maid’s statement. He 
also had heard the sound of wheels; and* on looking out of his 
window, he had seen a carriage and pair driving furiously down 
the road. 

“ Then that had nothing to do with this affair,” said Mr. 
Moncrieff, decisively. “ Robbers do not come in carriages.” 

He was turning away, when his attention was arrested by a 
word from Kingscott’s lips. Stella was bending over him and 
trying to do something for his arm; but the word he uttered 
made her hand fall suddenly to her side. “ Hannington,” he 
said. 

Stella half raised herself, glanced round her, and said, 
almost below her breath: 

“ Where is Molly?” 

She thought that Alan would, if he could, have annihilated 
her on the spot. “ In her room, of course,” he answered, 
sternly. “ You are unnerved, Stella. What is Ralph saying? 
Attend to Bertie — I will look after Ralph. Do you know me, 
Ralph? Who did this? Who has been here?” 

“ Hannington.” 


THE LTTCK OF THE HOUSE. 


151 


“ Hannington! He does not know what he is saying, 55 said 
Alan, for the benefit of the listeners around him; but his face 
blanched a little at the sound. “You need not crowd into this 
room, 55 he said, addressing himself to the servants. “ There 
is no further cause for alarm. We will get Mr. Kingscott to 
bed, and Mr. Bertie also; I hope that the doctor will be here 
presently. Now, Ralph? 55 

Kingscotf opened his eyes. A contraction of pain crossed 
his brow. “ What! Did he shoot me? 55 he asked, trying to 
sit up, but turning whiter than ever with the effort as he 
moved. “ The young scoundrel! 55 

“ Of whom are you speaking, Ralph? 55 

“ Of Bertie, of course. Isn’t his revolver anywhere about? 
He shot me, I tell you, whether by accident or not, 1 can 5 t 
say. I think 1 knocked him down in return. Good heavens! 
my arm! 55 

“ What are you talking about, Ralph? Did not burglars 
get into the house? 55 

“ Burglars! certainly not. John Hannington did — if you 
call him. a burglar — he has stolen one thing, at any rate. 
Have you some brandy there? This pain makes me feel un- 
commonly sick. 55 

Alan was obliged to control his impatience while he gave the 
brandy; but before Kingscott had swallowed it, a woman serv- 
ant came flying into the room with news. “ Oh, sir, oh, 
mem! Miss Molly 5 s no in her bed, nor in her room, nor any- 
where! She’s may be hiding, or cairryit aff by the robbers. 55 

Stella, who was now attending to Bertie’s wants, turned so 
white and scared a face toward her husband that even in that 
moment of anxiety he was struck by its expression. 

“ Send the woman away, 55 Ralph murmured, faintly. “ 1 
think I can explain. 55 

Mr. Moncrieff sternly ordered the girl out of the room, and 
then Ralph murmured his explanation in his brother-in-law’s 
ear. “ l 5 m afraid that Molly— Molly — has eloped with Han- 
nington, 55 he said. “ They were stealing out by the door in 
the tower when I came upon them. Molly had a bag; she 
was in her cloak and hat. Bertie was with them — perhaps he 
meant to go too: I can’t say. I rushed forward to stop Molly 
—and you see the result. 55 

Stella sprung up with a cry. “ Oh, it can’t be! it can’t 
be!” she exclaimed, hastening to her husband’s side. The 
gray change in his face alarmed her. “ Alan, it can’t be true. 55 

She put her hand on his arm, but he repulsed her, speaking 
harshly in his grief. “Was this your secret?” he said. 


152 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Were you helping my daughter to bring disgrace upon my 
Dame?” 

“ Alan, don't say such a cruel thing. I knew that Mr. 
Hannington had met her — I was trying to put an end to it — I 
had no idea that Molly ever thought of leaving us in this way! 
Oh, can not we stop her? Can not we bring her back?" 

“ Too late," said Alan, grimly. “ If I could, I would not 
now. Molly is no longer a child of mine. 1 have done with 
her forever. And if Bertie has helped her to disgrace herself 
in this way, I will — " 

“No, Alan, don’t say anything just now/” said Stella, 
clinging to him, although the sight of his rigid and repellant 
attitude, his fiery eyes and sternly set face, would usually have 
been enough to startle her into silence and submission. Kings- 
cott, watching her cynically in spite of the pain that he suf- 
fered, thought to himself that he would as soon have thrown 
his arms round the neck of an infuriated lion. But StelJa was 
carried out of herself and beyond the dominion of fear. 

Alan’s hand had clinched itself fiercely; the words upon his 
tongue had been harsh and bitter, and even terrible to hear 
from a father’s lips. But the hand relaxed, the words died 
into silence, and his fair young wife clung to him and gazed 
pleadingly into his face. A look of anguish took the place of 
fury; he turned away, placing his hand over his eyes, as if to 
shut out the vision of wife and son and absent, erring daugh- 
ter. Stella was obliged to release him, but she felt — afterward, 
for she was too much bewildered and distressed to think any- 
thing just then — that her interposition had not been without 
effect. Alan staggered a little in his walk as he went blindly 
toward the door; but he refused all offered help, straightened 
himself, and walked out of the room with head held high, but 
a face like marble and eyes like living coals. 

Kingscott sunk back with a groan of pain, and called to the 
old butler to give him more brandy. Stella hastened to Ber- 
tie’s side, for the lad’s eyes were unclosed, and he had raised 
himself on one arm with a bewildered, air. She could not 
leave him to the servants at that moment, although her heart 
yearned after her husband in his agony of wounded love and 
pride. 

“ What is it? What does it mean?’’ murmured Bertie. 

“ Don’t talk yet," said Stella, gently. “ Do you feel any 
pain? We must have you taken to your room when you are 
able to move, and the doctor will be here directly." 

„ 14 I'm not hurt/' said Bertie, in a stronger voice. “ Only 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


153 


a little dazed, I think. What was my father saying about me? 

I did not understand — ” 

“ You had better hold your tongue/' said Kingscott from 
the couch on which he was lying, in tones rendered harsh, pre- 
sumably by pain. 44 You can do no good by talking.” 

Stella was sorry to see that the lad cowered when these words 
were spoken as though they contained a threat. She redoubled 
her attentions to him, and was rewatded presently by finding 
that, although still sick and faint, he was able to move with- 
out difficulty, then, thinking that she could be of no use at 
present to Kingscott, she went away from the tower to make 
inquiries about Molly, and to give any orders that might be 
required. 

Alan Was invisible; the responsibility for every kind of 
action seemed at once to have fallen on her shoulders. The 
servants turned to her as if knowing instinctively that her 
head was sure to be clear, her judgment sound, and her will 
decided. She had to restore order, as far as possible, to the 
distracted household, and provide for future contingencies. 
Notwithstanding Alan’s declaration that he would have no 
more to do with Molly, she sent messengers in one or two 
directions — the coachman to the railway station with orders to 
telegraph to the station-master at Perth — a groom in another 
direction with somewhat similar injunctions. She thought 
that there might still be a chance of finding Molly and bring- 
ing her back. 

But her hopes grew small when, after a considerable search, 
she found a letter addressed to herself in Molly’s room. It * 
was short, but clear enough. 

44 As you are so determined to prevent my marriage with 
Jack,” wrote Molly, 44 we have thought it better to take mat- 
ters into our own hands. Jack is waiting for me with a car- 
riage in the road. We shall not go to Dunkeld or to Perth, 
so you need not look for us there. We shall be married to- 
morrow morning, and then 1 will write again. I have written 
to my father, and 1 hope that he will not be angry with us. 
Indeed, 1 would not have taken this way if you had not driven 
me into it by trying to come between me and Jack. I am 
sorry for my father’s sake, but not for anything else, because 
I love Jack better than anybody in the world.” 

She had signed her full name at the end — 44 Mary Helen 
Moncrieff. ” 

Stella was cut to the heart by one sentence: 44 1 would not 
have taken this way if you had not driven me into it by trying 
to come between me and Jack.” It was hard to make her 


154 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE* 


responsible for Molly’s willful rashness! What an accusation 
it was! She could not condemn or acquit herself exactly. She 
had erred in trusting the lovers too much; she had credited 
them with a sense of honor which it seemed they did not pos- 
sess. But then, who would have thought that John Hanning- 
ton, a man of good family if not of wealth, would have so far 
forgotten the traditions of his race as to urge an inexperienced 
girl of eighteen to elope with him! The thing was incredibly 
disgraceful in Stella’s eyes; and she knew that it would be — if 
possible— even more so in the eyes of her husband. 

Must she show him this letter, in which that accusing sen- 
tence seemed to stand o s ut with such terrible distinctness? She 
winced at its latter words — “ trying to come between me and 
Jack. ” What would Alan think of that? She dared not con- 
sider; she thrust the letter into her pocket, resolving to show 
it to him at once, x without regard to consequences. But this 
she found to be impossible. He had locked himself into his 
study, and answered when she knocked with a request that he 
might be left alone. His tones were muffled and unnatural. 

Stella thought, as she lingered wistfully outside his door, she 
was almost certain that she heard the sound of those heart- 
rending sobs which are the last expression of a strong man’s 
agony. Then she was summoned away by the announcement 
of the doctor’s arrival, and found herself obliged to explain 
the state of affairs to him, and to conduct him to his patients. 

Kingscott’s arm was seriously hurt, and he did not scruple 
to attribute his injury to Bertie’s hand. His ingenuitydid not 
desert him in the midst of all his pain. He was quite ready 
with an elaborate and highly colored version of his experiences, 
by which it was made to appear that h£ had been utterly sur- 
prised by the appearance of Hanningtomand Molly, that he 
believed Bertie to be helping them to elope, and that he had 
done his best to prevent the catastrophe that had followed. 
Even Stella did not know what to believe when she heard his 
plausible tale. It sounded so rational, so consistent! She 
could not imagine that Ralph Kingscott had any reason for 
wanting to see Molly married to John Hannington, and it did 
not seem likely to her that he would invent the story that he 
told. On the other hand, she could not make up her mind to 
believe that Bertie was so careless of his sister’s fate, so weak 
and deceitful, as to act in the manner indicated by Kingscott. 
She hoped that Alan would be able to solve the mystery. 

Bertie had been stunned by the blow on his head, and felt 
faint and languid when he recovered consciousness; otherwise 
he was not hurt. The doctor sought and obtained a few min- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


155 


utes’ conversation with Mr. Moncrieff, who received him 
courteously, with no trace of past emotion, and listened to his 
report of the patient’s condition with cold attention. 44 He’s 
just like a stone,” the doctor said to himself as he came away. 
It was only Stella who guessed the*’ intensity of the torture 
from which Alan was suffering just then. 

She herself did not gain access to him until the afternoon, 
when, on passing the door, she saw that it was ajar, and 
heard him call her by name. He had known her footstep, 
and wanted to speak to her. She was shocked to see how 
gaunt and haggard and old he was looking all at once. He 
stood in the middle of the room, with one hand resting on the 
table; in the other he held a letter which he proffered her to 
read. 

44 You can see it,” he said, hoarsely; 44 it is from her.” 

44 1 have one too. 1 have brought it for you to see,” said 
Stella. 

He took it from her hand, but did not read it immediately. 
He seemed to wish that she should first read his daughter’s 
letter to himself. 

Stella was astonished by its tone. It was utterly different 
from the tone adopted in the epistle to herself. Three pages 
were filled with protestations of penitence and affectiou; there 
was an humble plea for her father’s forgiveness which did not 
sound as if it came from Molly, at all, and there was an intima- 
tion that letters would find her at a certain hotel in Glasgow, 
from which place, she said, 44 Jack ” intended to go to the 
Trossachs for a time. 

When Stella had put down the letter — not knowing exactly 
what to say or think of it — Mr. Moncrieff began to read the 
note that Molly had written to her step-mother. 

44 Ah, that is genuine,” he*said, with a sigh. 

44 You don’t think the other is ?” 

44 No. I suppose that it was 4 inspired ’ by Hannington. 
Molly was never so affectionate to me in her life. ” 

There was a pause. 44 1 wanted to tell you,” Stella began, 
but her husband hastily interrupted her. 

44 Not just now. Tell me nothing at present. I have not 
heard Balph’s story yet, or Bertie’s.” 

44 But mine ought to come first,” said Stella, quietly. 

' He looked keenly at her. 44 Well,” he said, wincing a lit- 
tle as if something hurt him in her aspect, 44 tell your story 
then — in as far as it refers to Molly only. If you have any- 
thing else to say, let it wait. I want to know about her affairs 
only for the present.” 


156 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Stella would not Jet herself be wounded or dismayed. She 
began her story at once — the story of Lady Valencia’s warn- 
ing, of her expedition to Tomgarrow, and her interview with 
Hannington and Molly. Her voice faltered a little as she told 
of the week’s respite that she had given the lovers — never 
dreaming that they would take advantage of her trust in them 
to cut the Gordian knot in this discreditable way. There was 
a moment’s pause when she had finished. 

44 This is all you know!” said Alan, in the dry, hard voice 
which sounded so little like his own. 

“Yes.” 

“ And it did not strike you that your first duty in the mat- 
ter was .to me? — that I ought to have been told at once?” 

4 4 1 am very sorry,” murmured Stella. 

44 You ought to be sorry,” said her husband, bitterly. 
44 With a little more judgment, a little more wisdom on your 
part, this misery might have been avoided. You must know 
that.” 

He checked himself, for, with all his anger, he could not bear 
to see the look of pain and grief which his words brought to 
his wife’s white face and quivering lips. He did not quite 
mean what he said. It was true, perhaps, that an older and 
more experienced woman might for a time have staved off an 
elopement, but he acknowledged to himself that where per- 
sons of Molly’s unbridled temper and Harrington’s lack of 
principle had been brought together, no bonds could possibly 
restrain them effectually. He would have told Stella so: he 
would have gathered her into his arms and comforted himself 
in comforting her, but for that secret root of evil — the suspi- 
cion of her truthfulness, which Kingscott had implanted 
there. If she loved another man, why should he care to soften 
his tones or extenuate her womanly weakness? There was 
nothing so abhorrent to him, he told himself, as deceit. 

He stood silent for a moment, conscious, -without lifting his 
eyes, of the tears that were fast falling over poor Stella’s pale 
cheeks. She wiped them away very quietly, as if she hoped 
that he would not remark them, and her silence half softened, 
half irritated him. There was stern impatience in his tone 
when he spoke at last. 

44 You have no more to say at present, I suppose? There 
are other things to be touched on later — just now Molly’s 
affairs must come first. I have sent to ask Ralph if he can 
see me, and he is waiting for me, I believe. I have sent for 
Bertie, too; and I shall be glad if j/ou will accompany me to 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


157 


.■Ralph’s room. By a comparison of evidence, we shall perhaps 
get at the truth of the story. ” 

a Stella did not know exactly what he meant; but she followed 
his directions meekly, and went with him to Kingscott’s rooms 
in the tower. Ralph was in bed, evidently suffering much 
pain, but quite disposed to give his version of the story at any 
length that might be required. Bertie was also present. He 
looked white and distressed, and did not venture to sit down 
until his father curtly told him to take a chair. And then 
Ralph was requested to state what he knew. 

He gave his account much as he had given it before, but not 
without interruption. At one or two points Bertie burst forth 
indignantly. “ 1 knew nothing; I was not in league with 
Molly. It was not I who fired the revolver. ” And last of all, 
“ Then what were yoit doing in my father’s study at one 
o’clock — just before Molly went away?” 

Kingscott shook his head pityingly. “It is a pity that you 
should try to affix blame on me, dear boy,” he said. “ The 
only excuse I can make for you is that you are suffering from 
delusions caused by an overexcited brain.” 

“ Pray, what were you doing to be out of your room at that 
hour of the night?” said Moncrieff to his son. 

Bertie answered by telling his own story; but it was easy to 
see that Moncrieff did not in the least believe it. He believed 
in Kingscott apparently, and in nobody else. Neither would 
he credit Bertie’s statement that he knew nothing (“or very 
little” — a damaging qualification) — about Molly’s meetings 
with John Hannington. Matters became worse when Bertie, 
in passionate self-vindication, turned upon his uncle and ac- 
cused him of treachery. Mr. Moncrieff silenced him, angrily 
— all the more angrily because he was certain, from a look in 
Stella’s face, that she trusted Bertie and not Ralph Kingscott. 
And then Kingscott smilingly dropped a word or two which 
seemed innocent enough, but which brought the look of terri- 
fied submission back to Bertie’s face at once. “ You had bet- 
ter be quiet for your own sake,” Ralph Kingscott said. The 
w r ords were unintelligible to Stella: they passed unnoticed by 
Mr. Moncrieff; but they contained a veiled threat that if the 
boy did not hold his tongue, he, Ralph, would tell his father 
the story of some money transactions which Bertie was particu- 
larly anxious that his father should not know. And so the 
lad succumbed before the stronger will, and resigned himself 
to bear a burden of blame which he did not deserve. 

“ There is one thing that I have kept to the last,” said 
Moncrieff, when Bertie was silent. He spoke deliberately, but 


158 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


the tightening of the lines about his mouth told their own his- 
tory of pain. 44 Do any of you know this ring?” 

He held up a little gold ring, with a red stone set in brill- 
iants in the center. 

44 Molly’s!” exclaimed Bertie. Then he glanced at Kings- 
cott, flushed deeply, and was dumb. 

44 Molly’s, 1 believe. 1 found it in a locked drawer in my 
study,” said his father, gravely. 44 1 suppose it is easy to see 
that Molly must have been there. To you three and to you 
only will 1 tell what has occurred. Molly, it seems, would not 
leave the house without possessing herself of her mother’s 
jewels. They would have been hers in due course: I hardly 
blame her for that. But this is not all. She has taken papers, 
representing property to a considerable amount; and — and 
money. ” His voice grew thick, and his head sunk as he spoke. 
44 She knew that she was safe — that she might keep her ill- 
gotten gains. But I — I would sooner have lain in my grave 
than been obliged to acknowledge that my daughter — my only 
daughter — was a thief. ” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HALF CONFESSIONS. 

Bertie sprung to his feet. 44 It’s not true!” he exclaimed, 
in great agitation. 44 Molly had lost her ring; it was not Molly 
who left it there — ” 

He stopped short. Kingscott’s eye % was turned upon him. 
He stood, panting and trembling, unable apparently to utter 
another word. 

44 Do you,” said his father, slowly, 44 do you know anything 
of this robbery?” He raised his eyes and fixed them stead- 
fastly on his son’s face as he spoke. 

44 No!” cried the lad, almost angrily. 44 1 know nothing of 
it— how should I know? All I say is that if . you condemn 
Molly on the ground that her ring was found in your drawer,* 
you condemn her on very insufficient evidence. But you al- 
ways think the worst of us — you always suspect us of wrong- 
doing!” 

44 And have 1 never been justified in my suspicions?” said 
the father. He did not speak sternly, but in slow, sad tones, 
as of one who had lost all hope. 44 1 did not wish to be un- 
just,” he said, laying the ring on the table, and leaning his 
head wearily on his hands; 44 but it seems that I have never 
understood my children. ” 

An odd little silence fell upon the group. Nobody could 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


150 


contradict him: nobody dared to comfort him. They all 
looked at him for a minute or two, as if he were a stranger for 
whom nothing could be done; and then Stella's heart went out' 
to him with a rush of passionate pity which she would have 
given worlds to express. She ventured to touch his shoulder 
with one tender little hand, but he took no notice of the mute 
caress. He rose up suddenly, indeed, as if he wished to shake 
it off, and Stella, turning rather pale, felt that he was resolved 
against consolation from her. He blamed her in part for his 
misfortunes; and oh, she said to herself, she had indeed been 
to blame! 

It was Bertie who broke the pause. He had become first 
red and then white as his father's words fell on his ear; but 
his eye did not flinch, and a look of strong determination had 
settled upon his face. He stood grasping the back of a chair 
with his hand as if he wanted support; but the appearance of 
extreme agitation had suddenly disappeared. He was now 
calm, but firm. Kingscott glared at him angrily from his pil- 
lows, but Bertie would not look at him. The spell was 
broken; the lad's spirit was set free. 

“ You have been justified — you have never been unjust," 
he said, quickly. “ Bather it is I who have never understood 
you : I have been afraid to trust you as I ought to have done. 
If you will try to believe me — 1 know it will be hard — I will 
never hide anything from you again." 

44 What have you hidden hitherto?" said Alan, catching at 
once with the suspiciousness that seemed to have become a part 
of his nature at the hint of something concealed. His brow 
did not lighten as he looked at his son. 

‘"Several things of which I am ashamed," said Bertie, 
straightening his shoulders and looking his father full in the 
face. “ I have debts, sir, that I had no business to contract, 
in the- town. 1 have gambled and lost money, and, what is 
worse, I — 1 was mad, 1 think — I altered a check that you gave 
me three months ago: I turned eight into eighty — it was easy 
to do — and I yielded to the temptation because 1 was so dis- 
tressed for money at the time. " 

"He ceased, looking very white, and still avoiding Balph 
Kingscott's eye, but retaining the determined expression 
which, as Stella had often noticed, gave him so strong a like- 
ness to his father. Kingscott's face was livid, but for the mo- 
ment nobody noticed him. It was the effect of this confession 
upon Alan Moncrieff which absorbed the attention of his wife 
and son, who knew so well the exceeding bitterness of the cup 
of humiliation that he was being made to drink. 


160 


THE LUCK OP THE HOUSE. 


He reeled as if struck by a heavy blow. His face, which 
had been pale before, was now of an ashen gray. 44 It can't 
be true! It can't be true," he murmured to himself. 

4 4 It certainly can not be true," said Kingscott, sharply. 
44 Bertie must be raving — or, at any rate, exaggerating strange- 
ly. Take care what you are saying, boy." And then, in a 
rapid under-tone, which did not reach the ear of the unhappy 
father, he added: 44 Ho you want to kill your father outright 
by your ill-timed confession?" 

44 Better that Bertie should speak the truth at once and for 
all, Mr. Kingscott," said Stella, firmly. 44 His father will 
be less hurt in the end by a frank acknowledgment of wrong- 
doing than by concealment. " The look that passed between 
Ralph’s eyes and hers was like a declaration of war. 44 Speak 
out, dear Bertie, and let us hear the whole truth. Your father 
can bear it — can you not, Alan? And you will forgive him by 
and by." 

44 1 must bear it, I suppose," said Alan, with a grim, gray 
face set like a rock, 44 although it is hard to know that both 
my children — both — " He could not finish his sentence. 

44 Not Molly," said Bertie, quickly. 44 1 am sure you may 
trust Molly — she is not like me." 

The genuine shame and contrition in his manner moved 
Stella to pity, but did not seem to affect his father in the least. 
44 Speak for yourself," he said, coldly; 44 leave Molly's name 
alone. You altered the figures in a check, you say: you got 
the money: how was it that I did not know? 1 surely must 
have noticed the discrepancy between the sum on the check 
and the counterfoil — " 

He stopped short: some notion of his own carelessness in 
these matters crossed his mind. He turned abruptly to the 
bed where Kingscott lay. 

44 Ralph," he said, almost appealingly, “explain this. It 
must have gone through your hands. You must know. " 

The tears of perspiration were standing on Kingscott's brow. 
He was furious, and yet he was afraid. Know? he had known 
all along! It was he, indeed, who had first suggested the 
alteration in the check and had helped Bertie to carry out his 
fraud successfully. Hitherto he had procured Bertie's co- 
operation in many projects, by threatening to reveal the true 
history of that unlucky check. Now Bertie had thrown him 
over: well, he could play the same game, and, as he thought 
to himself, he should probably play it very much better than 
Bertie had ever done. 

44 1 know only what Bertie told me," he said, looking fixed- 


THE LUCK OF TIIE HOUSE. 


161 


lv at the iacl as he spoke. 44 Bertie brought me the check for 
eighty pounds, and ingenuously explained that you had writ- 
ten eight in your check-hook — which you had then left open 
on your desk. I myself at his request took upon me to alter 
the figures on your book — legally, of course, involving myself 
in fraud and forgery, but simply because of my trust in Ber- 
tie's word. In fact, I thought so little of the matter that I 
never even asked you about it; and the item passed unchal- 
lenged, you will remember, Alan, in your accounts.” 

Mon crieff had seated himself again during this explanation; 
he sat silent, with head bent and arms crossed upon his breast. 
It was his own carelessness, he knew, that had made this fraud 
possible; and he was too honest a man to acquit himself of 
blame. But Bertie flamed into sudden wrath. 

44 1 can’t stand this!” he exclaimed. “ Uncle Ralph, your 
story is false from beginning to end. You knew — you knew 
everything! You helped me to deceive my father; you used 
to take me down to the town at night when everybody thought 
that I was in bed; your little door in the tower was constant- 
ly used at night when we went out and in. And now you 
pretend that you know nothing about it. 1 would have shield- 
ed you if I could; but this is too much!” 

44 I think you will want 4 shielding ’ yourself; you need not 
talk of shielding me,” said Ralph, with irony. 44 Your stories 
are as unfounded as they are malicious; and I am sure that 
your father will give me his confidence so far — ” 

44 Yes, yes, Ralph, yes, I believe you,” said Alan, wearily. 
44 Whom should I trust if not you?” 

44 Father, father!” Bertie’s cry was full of anguish. 44 1 
swear to you that I am speaking the truth; Uncle Ralph is 
not worthy of your trust — ” 

44 And you are? — is that what you would imply?” said his 
father, the sarcasm sounding more sad than bitter, as it fell 
from his pain-drawn lips. 

44 1 am not — 1 am not — but I ivill be!’ 

And then, by a sudden movement which no one could have 
anticipated, the lad threw himself at his father’s feet and 
clasped his knees. 44 1 have been wicked and weak, I have 
done everything that you despise,” he said, vehemently, 44 but 
if you will forgive me, father, I will show you how I repent 
what I have done. You shall not alvvays be ashamed of me; 
you shall see that I — that I — ” 

He broke down in a passion of sobs and tears, such as could 
not be deemed unmanly by any one who appreciated the sin- 
cerity of his repentance. Stella’s fear that her husband would 


162 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


mistrust it amounted just then to positive agony. If he were 
hard, stern, obdurate now, she knew well that poor Bertie 
would be driven to desperation. No such moment of self- 
humiliation could occur twice in a young man’s life. If his 
father did not forgive him then, would Bertie ever ask again 
for his forgiveness? 

Kingscott looked on sardonically. Between Bertie’s chok- 
ing sobs, the sound of a low, grating laugh jarred unpleasant- 
ly on the ear. Ralph knew the value of ridicule. 

“ Repentance without confession? Very genuine indeed!” 
he sneered. 

Alan Moncrieff’s bent form straightened itself a little. He 
had been sitting in a dejected, listless attitude, his head hang- 
ing upon his breast, his gloomy eyes fixed upon the floor. 
When Bertie touched him he raised his eyelids and looked 
steadily at the bowed dark head, the slight form shaken by 
uncontrollable sobs before hm. A sort of quiver passed over 
his set, gray face. Ralph’s words seemed to rouse him; he 
turned hastily toward his brother-in-law, and addressed his re- 
ply to him. 

“ Confession has been partly made, Ralph. The rest will 
come later.” Then he laid his hand on Bertie’s head. “ I 
can not afford,” he said, with unusual gentleness, “to think 
that my son wishes to deceive me note. ” 

Bertie could only gasp out some inarticulate reply. Kings- 
cott let himself sink back upon his pillows, with a look of 
vexation and dismay, while Stella, relieved of her anxiety, 
drew nearer to her husband and his son. 

“I am sure,” she cried, “ that he is sorry, Alan. Dear 
Bertie, we will trust you for the future.” 

The sigh that came as it were involuntarily from Alan’s 
lips, the reproachful glance that shot from his eyes to hers, 
startled her a little. She did not understand their meaning; 
that had still to be explained. 

Mr. Moncrieff stirred and helped Bertie to rise; then, hold- 
ing him by the arm, he said a few words very earnestly. 

“ I pray Cod that you do mean to amend your courses, 
Bertie. Without amendment there is nothing but misery be- 
fore you— misery that will touch us all as well as yourself. I 
will try to trust you, and, if I can not do it all at once, you 
must remember that when trust has once been lost it is not 
easily given again. But I am willing to try — it is all that I 
can say just now. ” 

“Enough, surely!” muttered Kingscott. Possibly he in- 
tended Alan to hear. 


163 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

“ If you think it too much,” said Moncrieff, turning quickly 
toward him, 44 I will hear your reasons at another time. I 
have shown great carelessness myself, but it seems to me that 
you have been quite as careless as I. There are several points 
which require to be elucidated before my mind can be set at 
rest. 

44 1 should be much obliged to you if you would defer the 
elucidation,” said Kingscott, with an attempt to recover his 
usual suavity of manner. 4 4 You seem to forget that I am 
something of an invalid — that my arm is exceedingly painful, 
and that the doctor told me to beware of fever/’ 

44 1 beg your pardon,” said Alan, in a mechanical way, 
which showed that his thoughts were far away from the words 
that he uttered. 44 1 will disturb you no longer. Come, 
Bertie. ” 

There had never been more tenderness in his voice than 
when he called his son to accompany him, never more gentle- 
ness in his manner than when he placed his hand within Ber- 
tie’s arm, and leaned slightly upon it as he left the room. It 
was a sad sight to see him so bowed and broken — the blow had 
been a heavy one, and had turned him from a tolerably young 
man into an old one. It gave Stella a pang to notice that he 
would not look at her as he passed out. She paused for a 
minute or two to give Ralph some water, for which he asked. 

44 1 hope,” she said, as she took the glass from his hand, 
44 that we have done you no injury by talking so much in your 
room while you were, ill?” 

44 Is that meant for satire?” asked Ralph, irritably. 

44 Satire; certainly not. ” 

44 You are exceedingly kind, Mrs. Moncrieff. 1 can hardly 
say that I have not received an injury in the course of the 
evening’s conversation, but I think I know how to protect 
myself.” 

44 Not, 1 hope, at the expense of any one’s reputation,” said 
Stella, gravely. She was thinking of Bertie, but his reply 
showed her that he attached a different meaning to her words. 

44 A lady’s reputation is sometimes hardly worth preserv- 
ing,” he said, with the malignant look that she was beginning 
to know so well. 44 You may be quite sure that I shall guard 
mine at any cost.” 

She felt it useless to answer him, and left the room, there- 
fore, almost immediately. A nurse, hastily summoned from 
the town, was in attendance in the next room; and great was 
her indignation at the state in which she found her patient. 
It had indeed been unwise on Alan Moncrieff ’s part to allow 


164 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


bo exciting a scene to take place in a sick man’s room; but he 
was hardly capable of considering anything but his own 
troubles at that moment, and he had certainly never expected 
the confession that Bertie had been impelled to make. He 
would have gone into the matter more thoroughly then and 
there, but for a glimmering recollection that Ralph was ill. 
And there were so many points to discuss, there was so much 
that was puzzling in the case, so much that filled him with 
sorrow and dismay, that he felt himself incapable of grappling 
with the whole affair just yet. Bertie’s heart-felt grief softened 
him; he could not bear to believe the boy anything but sincere. 
It was a relief to his overburdened spirit to think that he had 
yet some one to love— some one, even, though with reserva- 
tions, to lean upon and trust. 

He did not turn to Stella for comfort. He was hurt and 
indignant with her still. He would not question her again, 
and yet he felt that there was something untold which he 
wanted to hear. What it was he did not know, but he was 
miserable until it was told. 

Little by little, during the next few days, he pieced the 
facts of the case (as he thought) together. He was resolved, 
in spite of Kingscott’s insinuations, to believe that Bertie was 
guiltless in the matter of Molly’s flight from home. Bertie 
swore that he knew nothing of it, and his father trusted him. 
On the other hand, he was equally averse from believing that 
Ralph had been concerned in it. Accusation and. counter- 
accusation between Kingscott and Bertie he put down to jeal- 
ousy and ill-temper. Ralph had been careless, no doubt, but 
Alan was not the man lightly to forsake an old friend. Care- 
less, but not treacherous; that was his version of the story, 
and the more Stella and Bertie blamed 44 poor Ralph,” the 
more determined was Alan to stand by him through thick and 
thin. 

And so, after several long conferences with one person after 
another, Alan Moncrieff made up his mind how to act. 
Molly, he decided, was guilty in many ways; she had deceived 
him, robbed him, disgraced him ; the country was ringing with 
the news of her elopement, and there were paragraphs about 
it in the papers, which stung him to fury. If Kingscott had 
not been invalided at the present moment he would have gone 
abroad. But business of various kinds had to be transacted, 
and he could not easily leave home. Every chance remark 
that he overheard, every sentence that he read, added intensity 
to his deep displeasure with his daughter. She who ought to 
have been the brightness of his house, the joy of his life, had 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


165 


inflicted upon him a torture of shame and grief which he felt 
that he could never forget — and which he firmly believed that 
he could also never forgive. 

He addressed a few lines to John Hannington at the Glas- 
gow hotel, but sent neither letter nor message to Molly. The 
substance of his communication was very unsatisfactory to 
Hannington. Mr. Moncrieff informed him that Molly’s fort- 
une (the bulk of which was inherited from an old uncle, and 
not to any great extent from her mother, as Hannington had 
thought), was tied up until she attained her majority, or until 
her marriage, if she married before the age of twenty-one with 
her father's consent. As she' had not chosen to ask that con- 
sent, neither she nor Mr. Hannington could be surprised if 
he chose to abide by the terms of the will, and he thought 
that trouble and perplexity might be saved if he at once in- 
formed Mr. Hannington of these facts. He begged that he 
might receive no letters from his daughter, and referred Mr. 
Hannington to his lawyer if he wished for any further informa- 
tion. Mrs. Moncrieff would forward Mrs. Hannington's per- 
sonal possessions to any address that might be given. He had 
taken means to assure himself of the validity of the marriage 
contracted between his daughter and John Hannington in 
Glasgow, and in doing this he conceived that his duty toward 
her ended for the present. 

The tone of the letter was cold, measured, and severe; but 
it was not the letter of a man in a passion of anger, and there- 
fore it was all the more impossible to controvert. Neither 
Molly nor Hannington wrote in reply; but an address was in- 
closed to Stella, and to this address she sent Molly's clothes 
and books and ornaments with a letter full of tender pity and 
counsel to the foolish girl herself. Silence followed it; and 
what had become of the runaway couple nobody seemed to 
knew. 

For some days a slight but perceptible coolness existed be- 
tween Mr. Moncrieff and his brother-in-law. Alan could not 
entirely acquit Ralph of carelessness in the charge of Bertie, 
and Ralph thought it wisest to accept no blame at . all. But 
the coolness did not last. How could it last when Ralph was 
working night and day to undermine Alan's trust in everybody 
but himself? Alan was drawn closer and closer to him by the 
common bond of suspicion and distrust. Stella had small 
chance of regaining his esteem when Ralph was constantly 
whispering evil suggestions in her husband's ear. Of the last 
and worst she was thoroughly unconscious. 

. “ The fact is, my dear Alan," Ralph said, one day in his 


166 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


most caressing and compassionate tones, “you married a 
woman who was in love with somebody else, and that some- 
body else was John Hannington. Hence these complica- 
tions !” 

And Alan believed him. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

LADY VAL SPEAKS OUT. 

When John Hannington had uttered the fatal words which 
were to divide him forever from the only woman that he had 
ever loved. Lady Valencia started away from his embrace and 
stood looking at him, the color ebbing away from her face 
and lips for a moment or two, and then flooding cheeks and 
brow in a great crimson tide. 

“ Married!” she said, in a very low tone, at last. 

“ Yes.” 

He set his teeth and stood silent before her. No excuses 
ever availed him, he knew, with Lady Val. 

“You have married Molly Moncrieff for her money?” 

“ It pleases you to say so.” 

She struck the ground imperiously with her foot. “ It 
pleases me to say so. What does the man mean? Answer 
me, sir, if you please. You have married Miss Moncrieff?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And for her money?” 

The two looked into each other's eyes. “ Curse her 
money!” Hannington then broke out, furiously, “ I wish her 
money was — ” 

“ Speak civilly, please,” said Lady Val, “I only wish to 
know the truth. ” 

He took a humble tone at once. “It is very hard for me 
to tell you. What could I do? You yourself advised me 
often enough — ” 

“ I never advised you to run away with Alan Moncrieff 's 
daughter — a child of seventeen or eighteen! Why, it's mad- 
ness! You will be cut by all his friends. You have ruined 
yourselves — both of you! And, besides — oh, Jack, it was a 
horribly mean thing to do!” 

She tried to control herself and to speak in her ordinarily 
brusque, off-hand manner; but her voice trembled in spite of 
her attempt. Turning sharply away, she stood motionless for 
a minute or two, and then, putting her hands before her face, 
she burst into honest, passionate tears, and sobbed heartily, 
while Jack leaned on the mantel-piece and felt guiltier and 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


167 


more wretched than he had ever felt since the days of his boy- 
hood, when he used to get into trouble for bullying little 
Lady Yal. 

44 Oh, Yal, Yal!” he said, hoarsely, at last, 44 1 can’t stand 
this kind of thing. Don’t cry, for God’s sake, my dear. I’m 
a cur and a villain, I believe, but I never thought you cared — ” 

44 1 did care, Jack,” she sobbed, piteously. 

44 If you had but let me know, Yal!” 

44 How could I let you know?” she # cried, the old impatience 
making itself visible once more. 44 It was no use. I would 
not have had you while we were poor, and you would have 
been very sorry if I had. It is folly to talk in that way. Yoix 
know that I — that I liked you, to say the least; and if ” — 
facing him defiantly with a proud flash in her beautiful eyes — 
44 if you had done your wooing openly — if you had gone about 
your suit as any other gentleman would have done — then I 
could have let you know in time, and you might have chosen 
between Molly Moncrieff and me!” 

44 There would have been no hesitation on my part,” said 
Hannington, closing his lips firmly and turning very pale. 

44 Perhaps not. I am much richer than Molly will ever be, 
poor child!” said Lady Yal, with a queer, shaky little laugh. 
44 1 should have been a better bargain. Jack. And what have 
you gained? You have behaved like a sneak, and everybody 
will say so — ” 

44 If you were not a woman, I — ” 

44 You would knock me down, eh. Jack? But what I say 
is true, for all that. You have behaved badly , I tell you, and 
you will hear plenty of remarks to that effect. I have no 
doubt that the society papers will take it up. And you are 
not rich enough to override gossip; you will go down like a 
stone. Even when your wife’s fortune comes to you, you will 
not be able to retrieve yourself. You have done a dishonor- 
able thing, sir, and 1 am very much mistaken if the world will 
not tell you so.” 

44 The world,” said Hannington, pulling at his mustache 
and looking down, 44 is generally lenient to a — a — romantic 
marriage.” 

44 Where there is love on both sides,” said Lady Val, 
quickly, 44 the world is lenient. But it will soon find out that 
you married Molly for her money, and it will revile you when 
it finds out that she has none.” 

44 You are cynical,” said Hannington, whose face had 
grown ominously dark, 44 and not particularly lucid. How 


168 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


will the world find out that I am not desperately in love with 
Molly, since 1 have eloped with her?” 

“ Are you so sure that you can disguise your real feelings?” 

“ Not at all. But I know the world better than you, and 1 
think that the world will not care very much. ” 

Lady Val shook her head. Evidently she did not care to 
argue the matter, but she was not convinced. 

“ You don't think so?* Hannington continued, quietly. 
“ Very well. Ell grant you your point. The world will de- 
spise me, the world will drop me as unworthy of its notice. I 
am ruined. Good. I have lost my character, my fortune, 
my ambitions, my love— everything that makes life worth liv- 
ing — that is what you mean to imply?” 

“ Yes,” said Lady Yal, steadily. “ That is what I mean 
to imply. ” 

“ And you are content to leave me in the abyss?” 

“ What do you say, Jack?” 

“ I ask if you are content to leave me to my fate? — to leave 
me to go under, as you prophesy?” 

“ Certainly not content .” 

“ Won't you give me a helping hand out of it, Valencia?” 

“ I don't see what I can do. Jack,” said she, simply and 
earnestly, “ but what 1 can do I will. I made a great fool of 
myself just now, 1 know, and the best thing for us will be to 
forget all about what I said. I shall not break my heart be- 
cause you have refused me, you know. ” 

“ But 1 shall, Valencia — if you refuse me.” 

He caught her hand as he spoke, and tried to draw her 
toward him, but she drew it away with a look of cold repul- 
sion in her eyes. 

“ Don't talk nonsense. Jack.” 

“Iam speaking in sober earnest. You acknowledge that I 
can hardly damn myself deeper than by what I have done al- 
ready. Wliat I propose will make matters no worse for me 
than they are at present. You are not a woman to be bound 
by conventional scruples, Val. I know you better than you 
know yourself, and I am sure that you would glory in break- 
ing the trammels that we both despise. Break them for me 
and with me, if you want to make me happy.” 

“You seem to think yourself the only person to be consid- 
ered in the matter,” said Lady Val, with wonderful compos- 
ure, although she had changed color more than once during 
Hannington 's speech. “ May I ask whether you are also con- 
sidering your wife's welfare — and mine?” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


169 


“ I am considering yours — because 1 am sure that I could 
make you happy — happier with me than with anybody else.” 

44 As I can not remain more than about five minutes longer 
with you,” said she, with some flippancy of tone, 44 1 don’t 
see that we need discuss the proposition.” 

44 Yal— Val — be serious. Do think of what I mean.” 

44 1 am serious, sir,” she said, suddenly drawing up her head 
and facing him haughtily, 44 and, being serious, I am utterly 
unable even to imagine what you mean. Is that answer not 
enough?” 

It would have been enough for any ordinary man. But 
John Hannington was bolder than most men, and not in an 
ordinary mood. With his face blanched by emotion and his 
dark eyes on fire, he caught her by the wrists, and looked un- 
dauntedly into her defiant face. 

44 You shall listen to me,” he said. 44 We have fooled each 
other long enough. There shall be no want of plain speaking 
now. You must understand what I mean, and 1 must have a 
positive answer — yes or no. ” 

44 No, then, without further parley, Mr. Hannington.” 

44 That is folly. 1 will speak, and you must listen.” 

44 Let my hands go. Yes, I will listen — for two minutes. 
Then you may go — forever. You were always a bully, Jack, 
and you always will be; but you have no power over me now. 
Drop my hands at once, please.” 

He released her wrists immediately. There was something 
about her which he found it difficult to disobey. The scorn- 
ful nonchalance of the air which she assumed when she gave 
him permission to speak almost robbed him of utterance. He 
admired her more passionately than ever when she disdained 
and derided him. 

44 1 want you to come with me, Val,” he said, in a voice so 
hoarse and so unlike his own that it was quite unrecognizable. 
44 Leave Glasgow with me to-night, and let the whole world 
go by. We could lead a very happy life on the Mediterranean 
coast, or in some Greek island where Englishmen and Scotch- 
men are never seen. Why should we not make the best of our 
youth? Life is passing swiftly by; neither of us can be said 
to have yet tasted the fullness of its joys. I love you, Yal, 
*and you love me; can we not be happy together yet?” 

44 May I ask,” said Lady Valencia, ‘ 4 what you intend to do 
with Mrs. Hannington under these circumstances?” 

She was utterly unmoved by the fervor of his pleading. Her 
eye was cool, her mouth steady. Hannington restrained him- 


170 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


self with difficulty from uttering an angry imprecation on poor 
Molly Moncrieff. 

“ We were married this morning,” he said, after a mo- 
ment’s pause. “ Legally I should do her a wrong, no doubt; 
but the law would soon dissolve the verbal bond between us. 
She would go back to her father, be forgiven, and in due time 
marry the man that he chose for her. There would be no bar- 
rier between you and me, then, Valencia.” 

“ And what would she feel about it?” 

“ She is a chit of a school-girl. She has no heart to break 
as you have, Val.” 

“ And yet she has given up home and friends for you — cast 
herself on your mercy entirely — and you say that she has no 
heart!” 

“ Why do you think of her? Why not think of the long, 
glorious days that we might pass together? Why should we 
let anything stand between us and our happiness, dearest? It 
is in our own hands. ” 

There was a moment’s pause. Then Valencia gave him an 
oddly sorrowful, regretful look — a long look, which haunted 
him for many a day — and quietly held out her hand. 

“ Good-bye, Jack,” she said. “ For auld lang syne. I’ll 
say good-bye, you see. But I will never willingly speak to you 
again. ” 

He stared ruefully at her, scarcely crediting her words. She 
let him hold her hand as she went on speaking. 

“ You’re a bad man, Jack; I never really thought you bad 
before. But now I think that you are heartless and worthless 
and wicked. 1 did love you — that’s true enough; and it is 
possible that I love you still — but not in the same way. You 
have killed the old love effectually, because I despise you now, 
and I can’t love where 1 despise. Why didn’t you hold your 
tongue. Jack?” 

“ You have told me you love me; why did you put tempta- 
tion in my way?” 

“ I did not know that it would be a temptation. I am sorry 
— sorry for you, sorry a little for myself, and, most of all, 
sorry for your wife.” 

He growled something of which she could not distinguish 
the syllables; but the tone told her its tenor well enougln 

“ You need not curse her for that,” she said, dryly. '‘You 
asked her to marry you, remember; you beguiled her from her 
home. Nothing you can do for her will ever be too much, 
considering the injury that you have done her already. You 
have alienated her from all her friends; you will have to make 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


171 


up for the loss. Now listen to me, John Hannington,” she 
went on, drawing her hand away and looking frankly into his 
face. “ If the world knew ali I know it would call you a 
scoundrel; do you know that? If I do not call you so, it is 
only because I have a regard for my old playfellow, and I hope 
that I shall one day be able again to call myself his friend. 
At present, we had better be as strangers one to another.” 

“ You will join the world in hunting me down, you mean?” 

“ No, I don’t. I will do anything for Molly— your Molly. 
I will be her friend if she likes; your acquaintance only. 1 do 
not want to harm you, and 1 shall do you the greatest service 
in my power, Mr. Hannington, if by any means I can make 
you thoroughly ashamed of the words that you have spoken 
to-night. What have 1 done that you should so insult me? 
To tell you before I knew of your marriage that 1 returned 
the affection which you have long professed to feel for me, 
ought never to have laid me open to this shameful proposal of 
yours. 1 feel degraded by it; but 1 am not degraded; it is 
you, in your wicked folly and madness, that have degraded 
yourself, and I can. only hope and pray that you will some day 
feel as deeply as I feel the depths to which you have sunk, 
and the contempt which 1 and every good man and woman 
must feel for you.” 

She uttered her biting words clearly and distinctly, with a 
ring of scorn in her voice, beneath which any man might well 
have slunk away ashamed. Hannington was bolder than most 
men in his way; but even he listened to her with white lips, 
and a hang-dog look which veiled a real remorse. For once 
he was bitterly hurt; he smarted as if she had lashed him with 
a whip; yet — such was her power over him— he did not resent 
her words. 

“ I know that you are in the right,” he said, half sullenly, 
half sorrowfully, at last. “ That does not make it any the 
better for me. ’ Well, I’ll go. Good : bye, Lady Valencia. If 
apologies would make things any better I would apologize, but 
I know that it is of no use.” 

Lady Val gave him a rapid, scrutinizing glance. “ No use 
at all,” she said, decisively. “We had better say no more 
about it, Mr. Hannington. I shall be glad if you will go now, 
if you please. ” 

He started slightly, took up his hat, and moved reluctantly 
toward the door. She watched him as he went— noting his 
bowed head, his frowning, discolored countenance, his cowed 
demeanor — and she clinched her little hands at her side to keep 
herself stilL For her heart yearned over him in spite of his 


172 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


degradation and .in spite of all the bitter things that she had 
said; and she would have been glad indeed if he would have 
given her the chance of saying a gehtle word to him before he 
went back to his unloved and deluded wife. 

He gave her the chance. The handle of the door was be- 
tween his fingers when he looked back and saw her watching 
him. Her face was calm and cold, but her eyes were softer 
than she knew. He made a sudden step backward into the 
room. 

“ I can’t go,” he groaned, “ until you say that you forgive 
me.” 

She hurried to his side — her pride, her self-control, had gone 
to the winds. She laid ‘her band upon his arm. 

“ Oh, Jack, Jack!” she said, “ how could you do it? Yes, 
I do forgive you; at least, I will forgive you if } r ou will only 
go home and be kind to poor little Molly. Make her happy. 
Jack, and I will forget all that you have said.” 

He took her hand and kissed it: he did not attempt to touch 
the beautiful face, which was yet so perilously near. She had 
raised him to her own height for a little time. For her sake 
he was willing at least to try to do his duty. 

He scarcely knew how he got out into the street. She must 
have put him out and closed the door behind him. He walked 
on, not seeing the road before him, not caring whither his 
footsteps led him. Molly was forgotten. His own misery, 
his own shame, were present with him : everything else was a 
blank. When he came to himself a little, he found that he 
was sitting on a bench in some public place, his elbows on his 
knees, his hands before his face, his eyes din\, and his cheeks 
wet with tears. Who would have believed it of John Han- 
nington? He rose up, dashed the moisture from his eyes, and 
began, slowly and sadly, to collect his thoughts. They were 
anything but pleasant. 

And, after meditating in some aimless and hopeless fashion 
for the best part of an hour, he made his way back to the hotel 
where he had left poor Molly. 


CHAPTER XXYII. 

CHARLIE RUTHERFORD. 

A month later, Mr. and Mrs. John Hanning ton had left 
Scotland and taken up their quarters in a London hotel. It 
was an expensive mode of living; but Hannington was in a 
reckless mood, and did not scruple to fling away the very few 
hundreds that he had been able to raise for himself before his 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


173 


marriage. He had not yet relinquished the hope that Mr. 
Moncrieff would relent toward his daughter, and pay over to 
her the money to which she would have been entitled if she 
had married with his consent; but he began to fear that the 
father’s heart was harder than he had imagined, and in that 
case he foresaw that his marriage would prove an utter failure 
as far as his worldly prospects were concerned. 

The husband and wife had just dined in a pleasant, bow- 
windowed room overlooking Piccadilly. Dinner had been 
ordered early— at six o’clock — as Hannington wanted to go 
out for the evening; and now, soon after seven o’clock, the 
spring sunshine was growing dim, and lighted wax candles, 
with their pretty crimson shades, had been set upon the 
damask-covered table. The blinds were not yet drawn down, 
however; and the ceaseless noise of rolling wheels in the street 
below was distinctly heard through the half-open window. 

“ What a noisy place London is!” said Molly, as she listened 
to the sound. 

“ Think so?” asked Hannington, indifferently. “ I never 
notice it.” 

“ It was so quiet at Torresmuir.” 

“ Deadly quiet, I suppose. And deadly dull.” 

A faint little sigh issued from Molly’s lips. But if her hus- 
band heard it, he was resolved not to show that he had heard. 
He had lighted a cigarette, and was lying back in his chair 
with his face turned toward the window. Apparently he did 
not wish even to glance at his wife, although she made a 
picture at that moment which might well have charmed the 
eye of any man. 

He had been rigorous in his requirements during the last 
few days, and Molly had done her best to fulfill them, seeing 
in his critical observations and sharp scrutiny only love for 
herself and anxiety that she should look her best in the eyes of 
his friends. . As yet his friends had not taken any notice of 
her. Possibly, she thought, they did not know that he was in 
London with his wife. But in view of future calls, invitations, 
drives, and rides, Molly had dutifully visited fashionable dress- 
makers, milliners, and coiffeurs, all of whom her soul would 
have loathed in the untrammeled life at Torresmuir. The 
result had been transformation. Molly was no longer a lovely 
hoiden; she looked as if she had stepped out of a fashion- 
book. Her hair was piled up on her head in countless soft, 
shining rolls; it was cut and curled in front, and crimped out 
of all its much prettier natural waves; her dress showed more 
of her neck and arms than would have been considered quite 


174 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


decorous at Torresmuir,. and was composed of some soft, 
creamy white material intermixed with daintiest lace, over an 
under-dross of eau-de-nil silk. Knots of ribbon of the same 
. hade fastened a cluster of tea-roses at her breast, and she 
wore ornaments of aqua-marine and gold. The greenish-blue 
tint was admirably becoming to her dazzling complexion and 
the ruddy gold of her hair; and Molly knew it; yet, strange 
to say, she was not happy in the consciousness of her own 
beauty. She began to find that it did not do so much as she 
had expected it to do. A frightened sense of powerlessness 
had been growing upon her during the last few weeks. 

Hannington had rather a jaded and irritable look. The 
anxieties of his position were telling upon him. But as yet he 
had said nothing of these anxieties to Molly. 

“ When are we going?” said Molly at last. 

“ Going!” He started a little as she spoke. “ Oh, I forgot 
to tell you; I have changed my plans. We can’t go to the 
theater to-night.” 

“ Oh, Jack! Why not.” 

“ Business,” said Hannington, curtly. 

“ And we have such nice seats. Oh, what a pity! Can’t 
you put off your business. Jack, dear?” 

“No, of course I can’t. Business won’t be put off, as you 
ought to know. ” 

“ Then — have you to go out to-night?” 

“Yes.” 

There was a little pause. “You were out last night with- 
out me,” said Molly, softly, “ and the night before — and to- 
night. ” 

Hannington glanced at her impatiently. Her eyes were 
swimming in tears; a drop fell over her rose-leaf tinted cheek. 

“If you are such a baby as to cry about a theater, 1 really 
don’t know what will become of you,” he said, contemptuous- 
ly. “I can not insure you against all the accidents of life, I 
am sorry to say. ” 

“It isn’t the theater,” said Molly, quickly. “ It is because 
you will be away from me, Jack.” 

“ Of all things I hate,” said Hannington, half closing his 
eyes, “ I hate most a man who is tied to his wife’s apron- 
strings. 99 

Molly pressed her hands tightly together under the table, 
and tried to force back the tears that continued to gather in 
her eyes. She was learning her first lesson of self-control. 

“ I don’t want you to stay with me,” she said, in a choked, 
mortified voice, “ if you don’t care to stay.” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 175 

“ All the better,” said her husband, dryly; “for I have 
something else to do to-night. ” 

Molly sat silent, biting her lips. A thundering double 
knock and a peal at the front door-bell suddenly resounded 
through the house, and made Hannington rouse himself. 

“You had better dry your eyes and not make a fool of 
yourself,” he said, sharply. “ I expect that that knock is for 
us. Donald Vereker and a friend svere to call for me at seven- 
thirty. I hear them coming up now.” 

Molly hastily rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief, but 
succeeded only in making them look rather redder than they 
would have been without this process. Hanning ton’s frown 
as he glanced at her added to her agitation. It was a beauti- 
ful but very pathetic little face which met the view of the 
gentlemen who entered; and Hannington would, on the 
whole, have preferred to see her radiant and smiling. 

“Mr. Vereker — Captain Rutherford — my wife ” — the in- 
troduction was effected in very brief fashion by John Han- 
nington, who wanted to make his escape as quickly as possible, 
but was annoyed to find his friends in no hurry to depart. Mr. 
Vereker always loved a pretty face, and he had heard enough 
of Molly’s story to be curious about her. While Captain 
Rutherford — Charlie Rutherford, as his friends usually called 
him — having neither heard of Mrs. John Hannington before, 
nor being remarkable for his appreciation of women’s beauty, 
amazed his companions not^a little by seeming quite unable to 
take his eyes off . Molly’s face, and showing no disposition at all 
to hasten away. Hannington was half vexed, half flattered by 
this evident admiration of his wife, and he wished very much 
that he had not acceded to his friends’ desire to call for him 
on their way to a music-hall and gambling-house, where he 
intended to spend the evening. 

Molly was not greatly taken by the appearance of Donald 
Vereker, who had lately grown red and fat, and was too jovial- 
looking for her taste; but she found Captain Rutherford at- 
tractive. He was a man of five- or six-and-twenty, tall, fair, 
broad-shouldered, and muscular, with a fair skin bronzed by 
exposure to sun and air; he had fair hair and a fair mustache, 
and his blue eyes, though not particularly beautiful in shape 
or color, were so frank and honest and manly that it was a 
pleasure to look at them. He had a gentle, pleasant way of 
smiling and talking, moreover, and he managed to make him- 
self very agreeable during the few minutes of his stay in Mrs. 
Hanning ton’s sitting-room, although he spoke neither so much 
nor so loudly as the Hon. Don. 


176 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Well, 1 don’t wish to hurry you/’ said Hannington at 
length, doing his best to speak pleasantly, “ but I think we 
had better be off. ” 

i 1 And are we going to leave Mrs. Hannington all by her- 
self?” asked Donald Vereker. “ That’s hard lines, isn’t it?” 

“ Oh, I shall be quite happy,” said Molly, innocently. “ 1 
have a novel to read.” 

“ She is an ardent novel reader,” said Hannington, with a 
smile. “ She will be quite absorbed in her three volumes as 
soon as we are out of the door; won’t you, Molly?” 

“If it is a nice one,” said Molly, smiling back brightly. 
“ I’m afraid that it won’t be quite as nice as the Lyceum.” 

“ Did you want to go to the Lyceum, then?” said Mr. 
Vereker. 

“ Oh, we had tickets for to-night,” replied guileless Molly, 
“ but as Jack has a business engagement he can not gv, so 
I ” — and she laughed a little — “ am left at home lamenting.” 

There was a very slight pause, in which it dawned upon 
Molly that she had said the wrong thing. Her husband’s face 
had grown white with anger; Mr. Vereker lifted his eyebrows 
comically; Captain Rutherford had turned aside, and was 
fingering his mustache. Both visitors knew that Hanning- 
ton’s “ engagement ” was one of pleasure, and not of business 
at all, and if Molly had been a plain and insignificant little 
creature Donald Vereker would have considered her ignorance 
rather a joke than otherwise. IJut for such a very pretty 
woman to be left to cry her eyes out over Jack Hannington’s 
absence (he was sure that she had been crying when they 
entered) was, after all, rather a shame. What Charlie Ruther- 
ford thought of the matter did not transpire; but there was a 
' steely look in his blue eyes which might have proceeded from 
indignation when he turned round again. 

“ Oh, look here,” cried Donald, “ we’ll give up our en- 
gagement, Jack— important as it is,” and he bestowed a 
facetious wink upon Hannington which annoyed that gentle- 
man very much indeed; “ and we’ll all escort Mrs. Hanning- 
ton to the Lyceum. What have you got — stalls, a box? If 
it’s a box, we can all go, you know.” 

“It is not a box, unfortunately,” said Jack, coldly; “ we 
had stalls. I am exceedingly sorry, but even if your engage- 
ment is not of pressing importance, mine is, and 1 can not 
give it up.” 

Mr. Vereker burst out laughing. “ I’m afraid mine is as 
important as yours,” he said "in a low tone of suppressed en- 
joyment, which Molly could not understand. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


177 


“ Oh, it is of no consequence,” she said, hurriedly. “ I 
shall be quite happy and comfortable here at home; and we 
shall have plenty of other chances of seeing Irving, shall we 
not. Jack? You see,” she added, with a prettily apologetic 
air, 4 4 1 have never been in London before, and I keep forget- 
ting that I am not going away again — just yet.” 

44 Can I be of no use?” said Captain Rutherford, eagerly. 
44 Perhaps 1 might be allowed to escort Mrs. Hannington this 
evening? I” — looking full at Hannington — “have no en- 
gagement of any kind, as Mr. Vereker knows. I was now on 
my way home, and shall be delighted if I may have the honor.” 

44 Very kind of you, Fm sure, Charlie,” said Hannington. 
44 Well, if you don't mind the trouble, my wife will be 
charmed. It is rather a pity to sacrifice two tickets.” 

Molly looked anything but charmed. Married woman as 
she was, and under John Hannington's , tuition, she was very 
ignorant of the privileges of her position. To go to the theater 
with a young man w T hom she had never seen in her life before 
seemed to her a startling prospect. She would very much 
have liked to ask her husband in private what it was 44 proper ” 
for her to do; hut as such a question was impossible, she could 
only look at him and at Captain Rutherford in turn with such 
wide-eyed dismay that Hannington, secretly raging, felt it in- 
cumbent upon him to offer some excuse for her gaucherie. 

44 My wife is quite taken aback by this pleasant surprise,” 
he said, coolly, 44 but she will no doubt express her thanks to 
you by and by. If you really mean it, that is, Charlie — if you 
have no other engagement — ” 

44 Not in the least. I shall be most happy to go with Mrs. 
Hannington. I want to see Irving immensely.” 

44 Run away and get your cloak, then, Molly. I will send 
for a cab at once.” 

Under cover of tftis excuse he followed her into the next 
room, and there spoke somewhat sharply. 

44 You may as well say a civil word to Charlie Rutherford, 
Molly: don't behave like a girl in the school-room, for good- 
ness' sake.” 

44 Oh, Jack!” cried Molly, clinging to his arm, 44 ought I 
to go? I don't like going with Captain Rutherford and with- 
out you. I have never done such a thing before. ” 

44 Don't be prudish,” said Jack. “You are a married 
woman now, remember, and don’t require a chaperon.” 

But as he paused and looked down at her, it struck him 
that she was very young and fair to be left by her own hus- 
band not six weeks after her wedding-day — and left, too, for 


178 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


such a reason! The momentary sting of compunction passed 
away, but it caused him to speak kindly, and to bend and kiss 
her lips as he spoke. 

44 You will be all right with Charlie Rutherford, dear: he is 
as dull and steady as old Time. HeTl take care of you as if 
you were a dowager. Of course I should not allow you to do 
anything unsuitable; you must leave me to decide these mat- 
ters, you know. Now, don’t look doleful: give me a kiss and 
be a good girl.” 

Molly’s eyes brightened as she returned her husband’s 
salute. It was not often that he spoke so affectionately now- 
adays: she had found out that the time of compliments and 
caresses was passing by. Even in the early days of their 
married life she had noticed that his moods were fitful, and 
that his affection for her seemed of an intermittent character. 
She had not the key to these changes of behavior, and they 
perplexed her greatly. Of late the moods had been less 
changeable, but the coldness more persistent. Her husband 
was a riddle to her, and the consideration of this riddle was 
bringing a new, strange shadow of doubt and distress into her 
hazel eyes. 

When Molly had driven off with Captain Rutherford, Han- 
nington turned rather curiously to his friend Vereker. “ I 
don’t understand all this,” he said. 44 Wasn’t Rutherford 
coming with us? — or did he back out of it for the sake of 
doing the polite to my wife?” 

44 He had backed out of it already,” answered Donald 
Vereker. 44 He swore that he had had no idea what the en- 
gagement meant; and that he would no more go to that 
music-hall and then to Lulli’s with us than he would fly.” 

44 1 didn’t think he was a milksop, I must say.” 

44 Oh, I knew there was a strain of it in him, but I thought 
that we should work it out a bit to-night. I should have liked 
to set him down to cards at Lulli’s: he could stand a good bit 
of play without getting broke, I fancy. ” 

44 Wealthy, isn’t he?” 

44 Tremendously so. A very good pigeon, indeed, for you. 
Jack. But he declines to be plucked, you see.” 

Hanning ton did not like the joke, and frowned in reply. 
But he was sorry that he had missed the chance of 44 rooking ” 
Captain Rutherford: his funds were growing low, and to win 
a few hundreds at play seemed to him the only way by which 
to recoup himself for recent losses. He had vowed to leave off 
play when he married a rich wife; but poor Molly — although 
she might be rich one day — was at present almost penniless. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


179 


Therefore, lie argued with himself, another attempt to win 
back his luck at the green table was “ absolutely necessary.” 

Meanwhile Molly went to the theater with Captain Ruther- 
ford, and was much impressed and delighted by all that she 
saw and heard. She found him also a very charming com- 
panion. He talked to her between the acts with a gentle, 
respectful courtesy of manner, which she thought exceedingly 
pleasant; and yet there was a youthful gayety of heart about 
him which made him seem to her like a brother or a playmate. 
He reminded her of Bertie, and she told him so, with a con- 
fiding simplicity, which he in turn found adorable. 

“ Where did Hannington meet her?.” he thought to him- 
self, as the youthful loveliness of her face impressed itself 
more and more upon him. “ She does not look more than 
seventeen, and she seems to have no friends in London. 
What business has that man to neglect her in this way? Who 
is she, and how did she come to marry that hard-hearted 
scamp?” 

By which meditation it may be seen that Captain Ruther- 
ford did not read society papers. 

He soon found out what he wanted to know. A chance 
reference to Lunkeld brought the color to the girl's face, the 
moisture to her eyes. 

“ Oh, do you know Perthshire?” she cried. “ Perhaps you 
know my father? Mr. Moncrieff of Torresmuir.” 

“ Is he your father? I have met him several times, and my 
father knows him exceedingly well. You may have heard of 
my people, Mrs. Hannington?” the young man went on ques- 
tioningly. “ My father's place is further north, but I think 
that Mr. Moncrieff visits him sometimes.” 

“ Is Sir Archibald your father? I know his name,” said 
Molly, with some little confusion of manner. “ I think that 
I have heard of you too.” 

“ I am sure you have — just as 1 have heard of you,” said 
Captain Rutherford, heartily. “ But how was it that I knew 
nothing of your marriage, I wonder? I was at my father's in 
March, and he never mentioned it — ” 

He wondered why Mrs. Hannington 's cheeks had so sud- 
denly assumed a vivid tint of red. 

“ Oh, stop, please,” said Molly, in a very low voice. The 
orchestra had just struck up, and he could hardly hear what 
she said. He bent his head to listen. “ I don't think any- 
body knew,” she went on, flushing more and more. “ It was 
— very quiet. ” 


180 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Oh, I see,” said Captain Rutherford. But he did not 
“ see ” at all. He was very much puzzled. 

Molly played with her feather fan, and was silent for a time. 
At last, in an odd, abrupt kind of way, she said: 

“ Of course, you will hear all about it sooner or later, so it 
is no use for me to make a secret of it. Jack and 1 ran away 
together — didn’t you know that? We only wrote to my father 
afterward. If you are my father’s friend, I think you ought 
to know. Because papa is angry with me, I believe, and per- 
haps you would rather not — rather not— -be friends with me 
any longer— when you know.” 

It was a good thing that John Hannington did not hear the 
childish speech. But Charlie Rutherford felt as if be could 
fall down and kiss the hem of Molly’s pretty silk gown upon 
the spot. And then the curtain went up and he could not 
reply. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
molly’s awake n i n g . 

Captain Rutherford did not hear much of the dramatic 
performance that followed. His mind was entirely fixed upon 
the information that Molly had just given him — information 
which he found intensely disagreeable. He had never known 
John Hannington well, and he had been taken to that gentle- 
man’s hotel by Donald Vereker without knowing that there 
was a Mrs. Hannington at all. Vereker, it should be ex- 
plained, had written and obtained Hannington’s permission to 
call for him (“with a friend”) that evening, but Charlie 
Rutherford, captain of hussars as he was, had not been 
thought important enough to have the position explained to 
him beforehand by the Hon. Don. 

He remembered, clearly enough now, that he had heard of 
Miss Moncrieff’s elopement when he was last in Scotland. He 
had not noticed the name of the man with whom she had gone 
off. His father and mother were people of the old school, 
dignified, reserved, loyal in word and deed; they had not gos- 
siped about their friend’s troubles, nor gloated over the recital 
of Molly Moncrieff’s imprudence and her step-mother’s care- 
lessness, as many of poor Alan Moncrieff’s acquaintances had 
done. The little that Charlie had heard about it had been 
uttered in a tone of grave pity and regret: and the grief that 
Alan Moncrieff had suffered was dwelt upon rather than the. 
misconduct of his daughter. 

But that it was misconduct, Charlie Rutherford was as 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


181 


strongly of opinion as were his parents. That a young girl, 
tenderly nurtured, gently bred, should — without any great 
reason — run away from her father's house at the age of seven- 
teen with a man who had wooed her clandestinely — this seemed 
to Captain Rutherford a disgraceful act indeed. And yet this 
lovely, graceful girl, whose charm consisted largely in the 
candor of her glance, the seeming frank transparency of her 
whole nature — this young creature, whom Charlie had already 
characterized as the most beautiful woman that he had ever 
met— she, of all j)eople, had acted in this way, and he had not 
the heart to condemn her! Of course it was her husband's 
fault. Every one knew, he thought indignantly, that Han- 
nington was a cad, a cur — anything but a gentleman! No 
doubt he frightened the poor girl by some means into marry- 
ing him! And she was so young, so pretty, and it showed 
such honorable feeling on her part to tell him the story! In 
short, he made out a good case for Molly, as every other young 
man in his place would have done, regardless of the fact that 
he had quite agreed with his mother when Lady Rutherford 
said a month before that she was afraid poor Alan Moncrieff's 
daughter had been a sore trouble to him, and a sad disgrace 
to all her family. And here he was sitting side by side with 
this disgrace to her family, and— if she had only not been 
John Hannington's wedded wife! — quite ready to fall in love 
with her at first sight, as young people used to do in the days 
of old romance. 

Molly, unconscious of the turn his thoughts were taking, 
was yet not unmindful of the sternness that had crept into his 
face as he sat with folded arms and blue eyes fixed absently 
upon the floor instead of on the stage. Her marriage had made 
her more susceptible to influences from without than she had 
been in her early days. She felt that he had been startled — 
perhaps even shocked — by her story; and for the first time she 
realized a little how the story sounded in the ears of strangers, 
and what aspect it would wear in the eyes of a duty-loving. 
God-fearing, high-minded man or woman. 

When the curtain had dropped again she did not speak 
until Captain Rutherford asked her whether she would take 
an ice or some coffee. Molly refused both hastily, and then 
summoned up courage to look at him. His face was not at 
all stern now, she thought; his blue eyes were quite gentle and 
friendly. 

44 1 hope you are not — not very much shocked?" she faltered 
out. 


182 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Charlie Rutherford did not think that he ought to smile, 
but he could not help it. The question was so very naive. 

44 Our fathers are good friends,” he answered, evading the 
difficulty. 4 4 1 think that we ought to be good friends too, 
Mrs. Hannington. I have been wanting to make your 
brother’s acquaintance for some time.” 

44 Oh, how nice of you!” said Molly. 44 And how nice for 
Bertie!” 

Charlie laughed outright now. It was more than ever im- 
possible to help it, although Mrs. Hannington looked sur- 
prised. 

44 It will be very nice for vie ,” he said. 44 1 am going to 
Scotland soon, and will look him up. He is at home, I think?” 

44 1 think so,” said Molly, blushing. 44 But — 1 don’t know 
exactly. He hasn’t — they don’t write to me.” She did not 
know by what impulse she told this fact to a comparative 
stranger; but she did tell it in the artless way in which a child 
will recount its woes to any one who seems kindly disposed. 

Captain Rutherford looked grave. 44 1 am sorry,” he said, 
involuntarily, and then paused. 44 You have written to them, 
of course?” he asked, feeling himself obliged, out of sheer 
pity, to take a confidential tone with this impulsive, imprudent 
child. 

44 Yes, I wrote at once,” said Molly, with downcast eyes. 
44 And I have written again, but papa would not read my let- 
ter. Don’t you think that it is very hard? I thought that he 
would forgive us directly — of course I know that I was dis- 
obedient and naughty and all that — but he won’t. It makes 
me very unhappy.” 

44 It viust,” said Charlie, with quite unintentional fervor. 
He was a simple, direct, affectionate young fellow, and the 
position of this gjrl, whose father’s heart was alienated from 
her, appeared to him truly pitiable. Molly raised her eyes for 
an instant, looking as if she had received a rather new idea. 

44 And I suppose you have not many acquaintances in Lon- 
don yet?” he went on after a pause. 

44 Not one,” said Molly. 44 Jack says that I shall have more 
than I know what to do with before long, but I don’t know. 
I suppose that he has a great many friends in London?” 

44 Of a sort,” said Charlie to himself, but of course he did 
not say it aloud. He answered discreetly: 44 1 believe that 
Mr. Hannington has a very large acquaintance. Mr. Vereker 
seems to be an old friend of his. The Esquharts are in Lon- 
don now, 1 believe. I dare say you will see something of 
them. Lady Agnes Vereker is a very nice girl. My mother 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


183 

always comes up to town in May; she will be here next week, 
and I am sure she will be very glad — ” 

Fortunately for Charlie’s veracity, a burst of music drowned 
the conclusion of that sentence. 

“ It is very kind of you,” said Molly, rather forlornly. “ I 
should like to have somebody to talk to — of course — Jack is 
obliged to go out sometimes.” 

“ Yes — to music-halls,” was the young man’s silent com- 
ment. He added, aloud: 

“ There is a Lady Valencia Gilderoy whom I think you 
must have met near Dunkeld. ” 

“ Oh, yes, we knew her very well.” 

“ She is in town now. She was a friend of the Esquharts, 
and I think she knows Mr. Hannington. Shall 1 tell her 
where you are staying? I often see her. ” 

“ Please do,” said Molly, eagerly. Then she hesitated, “ I 
don’t know. She is a friend of papa. Perhaps she will not 
come. ” 

“ She shall come if I can make her,” said Captain Buther- 
ford, stoutly. And then the play went on. 

It seemed to Molly as if she must have known Charles 
Kutherford for many years. Ilis name had long been familiar 
to her, and to meet him in London was like meeting a coun- 
tryman in a foreign land. She could not treat him like a 
stranger. 

He drove back to the hotel with her between eleven and 
twelve, parting from her at the door with a sensation of entire 
devotion which would greatly have astonished simple-minded. 
Molly, could she but have known it. Her husband had not 
come in, and she did not wait for him. She was tired and 
went at once to bed, where she slept so soundly that she was 
not alarmed by the fact that Jack did not return until six 
o’clock in the morning, when he stumbled into his dressing- 
room and threw himself down on a couch to sleep until noon. 
She found him there when she was dressed at nine o’clock, 
and, like a wise little woman, forbore to disturb him. 

He appeared in the sitting-room at one o’clock, ordered 
brandy and soda, and complained of a headache. He certain- 
ly looked ill, his face was lividly pale, and he had black marks 
under his eyes. Molly hastened to wait upon him but got 
snubbed for her pains. He lay down on a sofa, turned his 
back to her, and told her roughly to hold her tongue. 

After ten minutes’ silence, however, he addressed her£again. 

“ Molly, when did you write to your father?” 

64 Last week. Jack dear.” 


184 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ And he sent back your letter unopened?” 

“ Vpa Tank ” 

“ Confound him! Molly!” 

“ Yes, Jack dear?” 

“ Open that pocket-book and take out the key that you'll 
find inside. That's it. Now go and unlock my dressing-box 
and see how much money you can find. I want to know. 
Bring it all to me.” 

Molly wonderingly did her lord's behests. “ I've found such 
a lot,” she said, when she returned. “ What do you keep it 
there for. Jack? it might get stolen. There are one hundred 
and twenty pounds in notes, and fifteen pounds, seventeen shil- 
lings and fourpence in silver and copper. ” 

“ Is that all ?'■' said Hanning ton, blankly. 

“ Isn't it enough? Yes, that is all, 1 am sure.” 

“ A nice lookout for us,” muttered her husband, turning 
his face away. “ That's all we have got in the world, you 
may be pleased to know; and thanks to your father's infernal 
obstinacy, that is all we seem likely to get until you are 
twenty-one. ” 

The color faded from Molly's cheeks at the tone of his voice 
rather ’than on account of the words he uttered. She felt 
vaguely afraid and dismayed. 

“ 1 thought you — you — had — plenty,” she faltered. 

“ Plenty! It depends on what you call plenty! I haa more 
than this last night, certainly: I was cheated out of a lot of 
money — fool that I was! Look here, Molly, I shall be ruined 
— if I am not ruined already — unless 1 can get something out 
of that precious father of yours. You won't have bread and 
butter to eat before very long, if something does not turn up. 
I shall have to go to the Continent, and you back to your 
father : that is what will happen to us. " 

“ Oh, Jack, if you were ever so poor I should never desert 
you!” cried Molly, who was in tears by this time. 

“ Like Mrs. Micawber,” said Jack, dryly. “ But I am 
afraid that I should have to desert you, my dear — unless you 
can mend matters for me.” 

“ How, Jack? I will do anything that I can.' 

“ Sit down and write a moving appeal to your father, then. 
Say anything you like; promise anything you like, but get 
him to give an income.” 

“ Ask him for money? Oh, that is impossible,” said Molly, 
suddenly flushing scarlet, and drawing herself up. 

* 4 Just now you said you would do anything for me, and yet 
you hang back the moment a disagreeable task is suggested to 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


185 


you,” said Hannington. 44 I acknowledge that it is disagree- 
able: there are many disagreeable things in this world, un- 
fortunately; but they have to be faced. However, I shall now 
know how much faith to place in your professions. ” 

He turned his eyes angrily to the wall, and kept silence. 
He knew very well the way in which his demeanor would affect 
poor Molly’s feelings. She also was silent for a few minutes, 
but then she burst out passionately: 

“You ought not to say that! You know that I profess 
nothing that I do not feel. 1 have given up a great deal to 
show my love for you. I have given up my home and my 
friends. It is very hard to ask for money when all I want is 
my father’s forgiveness.” 

“You have never seemed to think much about your father’s 
forgiveness before,” said her husband, with a sneer. 

“ I know that I did not. 1 have begun to think about it 
lately. 1 wish — I wish — ” 

“ Perhaps you wish that you had not married me,” said 
Hannington, sarcastically. 4 4 Does your repentance extend so 
far?” 

44 Oh, Jack, Jack!” She flew to him at once, and knelt be- 
side him, showering kisses on the hand that was within her 
reach — he would not let her kiss his face. 44 How can 1 re- 
pent it when 1 love you? You are my own dear husband — 
my love — my darling! I can not repent that 1 came away 
with you!” 

44 That’s all very fine, Molly, but heroics and hysterics won’t 
give us bread and cheese. Are you or are you not going to 
manifest your love for me in a practical manner? If you care 
for me half as much as you say you do, you won’t scruple to 
write a little note to your father on my behalf. If you won’t 
do that small thing for me — well, 1 shall know what to believe 
and what to expect.” 

44 But it does not seem a small thing to me. Jack; it seems 
very large,” cried Molly, piteously. 44 It seems a dreadful 
thing to me . 99 

44 And you refuse to do this — this large and dreadful thing 
for me?” He turned toward her and looked at her with those 
dark, handsome eyes of his, which had first won Molly’s heart. 
Won’t you try to help me, Molly?” he said, subduing his 
voice to a coaxing tone. And Molly burst into tears and 
promised that she would; and he, as a reward, put his arm 
round her and kissed her, calling her by all sorts of pet names, 
and vowing that she never should repent that she had become 
his wife. And in this he was in part sincere and in part 


186 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


dominated by baser motives. He wanted to keep Molly in 
what he called “ a good humor/' and he was also fond of her, 
and admired her beauty very cordially. 

So at last Molly sat down to the writing-table and indited 
another letter to her father. John did not suggest any sen- 
tences, as he had done once before with somewhat disastrous 
effect; doubtless he knew by this time that Molly's style and 
his own were wide as the poles asunder. And Molly's letter, 
which she dutifully brought to him, was, he assured her 
j^atronizingly, a very creditable effusion. Indeed, it was a 
pathetic and perfectly sincere little letter, which deserved a 
better fate than the one which ultimately befell it. 

She inclosed it in a note to Bertie, begging her brother to 
place it in their father's hands. In four days an answer was 
received— -but not from Mr. Moncrieff or Bertie; it was written 
by Ralph Kingscott. 

‘‘My dear Molly," wrote her uncle, “your father wishes 
me to say that he can not conceive why you should write beg- 
ging letters already. You must surely have sufficient for your 
present needs, considering the circumstances under which you 
left his house." 

“ What can he mean?" said Molly, when she read this let- 
ter rather tremblingly aloud to her husband. 

Hannington shook his head. 

“ Can't imagine, I am sure. As I took nothing out of his 
house but yourself, my dear, there does not seem much point 
in his observation. Go on." 

Molly continued to read: 

“ He is of opinion that you have already received sufficient, 
and that he ought not to be called upon for more. " 

“ More!" cried Hannington, fiercely; “ what does that 
mean?" 

“ He therefore requests that no more communications may 
be addressed to him or to any member of his family. Thus 
far, my dear Molly, I have written at his dictation, and I can 
now add a few words of my own. In robbing him of yourself, 
you see, your father looks upon poor Jack as a mere thief, and 
refuses to increase his wealth by gifts of filthy lucre, which is 
unfortunate for Jack, I dare say, as he knows the worth of 
filthy lucre as well as any one with whom I was ever acquaint- 
ed. Your father is somewhat annoyed also at the way in 
which your letter was forced upon his notice; Mrs. Moncrieff, 
to whom Bertie confided it, having placed it open upon his 
desk. The matter has become a sore point with him alto- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


187 


gether, more particularly as the fact of your husband's previous 
engagement to Mrs. Moncrieff — " 

Here Molly broke off. 44 Your engagement to Mrs. Mon- 
crieff!" she said, in an incredulous tone. 

“ I think I told you about it/' he answered, trying to speak 
carelessly. 44 Mrs. Moncrieff, when she was Stella Raeburn, 
was — 99 

“ In love with you! I know that; Uncle Ralph told me so, 
and you acknowledged it/' said Molly, quickly. 44 But an 
engagement — " 

46 Well, why not? It was broken off, my dear child, if ever 
there was one, long before 1 knew you." . 

44 Yes, yes, of course it was; but you never said that you — 
that you — " 

44 That 1 — what ? Don't stammer and whine, for mercy's 
sake. What do you mean?" 

44 You must have asked her — you must have paid attention 
to her — or she would not have shown that she liked you! You 
could not be engaged to her without having made love to 
her!" Molly broke out, jealously. Her breast was heaving; 
her dilated eyes gleamed through a mist of tears. 

44 Naturally," said her husband, coolly. He had by this 
time lost his temper. 44 1 never implied that Stella Raeburn 
gave me her affection without my asking for it, did I? Of 
course I made love to her; what else do you expect to hear?" 

44 You loved her first?" cried Molly. Her face had grown 
pale, and her hands clinched themselves at her side. There 
was something tragic in her look. 

Hannington laughed scornfully. 44 Loved her?" he re- 
echoed. 44 1 have only loved one woman in my life — and that 
was not Stella Raeburn." 

44 Oh, Jack, Jack! say that you loved me /" cried Molly, 
stretching out her arms to him, beseechingly. He looked at 
her and did not answer. 44 You have loved one woman," she 
went on, fearfully, “don't you mean me, Jack? You have 
always said that you loved me; and I — I am your wife." 

44 Worse luck for me," growled Hannington, savagely. He 
said it between his teeth, not exactly meaning her to hear; but 
when he saw from her stricken look and the shrinking move- 
ment of her whole body that she had heard, he did not attempt 
to mend matters. He cast a guilty glance at her, shrugged 
his shoulders, and then went straight out of the room. He 
had come to the conclusion that it was useless to 44 humbug " 
Molly any longer. The sooner she found out that he did not 
care for her more than husbands usually care for their wives 


188 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


— such was the cynical way in which he put it to himself — the 
better for her — the better for them both. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

STELLA RAEBURN’S LETTERS. 

Molly sunk into a chair when her husband left her, and 
sat like a stone, cold, motionless, and indifferent to all sur- 
roundings. It seemed to her that life was at an end, that her 
happiness was entirely destroyed. John Hannington, for 
whom she had sacrificed so much, had never loved her after 
all — she could not but be sure of that. It was some other 
woman whom he loved; perhaps Stella, perhaps some one else. 
And what was left to Molly for her share of this world’s good? 
She had given up her home, her father, brother, friends; she 
had turned from wealth to poverty — a small matter when love 
was present, perhaps, but not without its importance — she had 
even lowered her own fair reputation — and for what? For 
the sake of a man who did not love her. But why had he 
married her? That was poor Molly’s question; and the answer 
did not make itself clear for some little time. “ He must 
have loved me a little, or he would not have married me,” 
she said, childishly, thereby revealing the depths of her igno- 
rance of man’s nature. But Molly, in spite of her beauty, of 
her high physical development, of her strong will and passion- 
ate nature, was as yet only a child in soul. She had no men- 
tal resources, no real strength of character to fall back upon 
when natural hopes of love and joy had failed her. Her mind 
might grow, and latent powers of intellect and conscience 
awaken; but at present she was capable of but little feeling, 
and entirely governed by her emotions. 

She sat still for some time. All her strength seemed to 
have left her. At last the tears began to flow — slowly at first, 
then faster; and with the tears came a rush of warmer feeling 
— of resentment, jealousy, anger, instead of the coldness of 
despair. She cried her heart out like a hurt child, before she 
bethought herself of any plan of action or any arrangement 
for the future, now that she was bereft of her husband’s love. 

When she was a little calmer, she noticed that she had seen 
her uncle’s letter drop to the floor, where it lay crumpled and 
half unread. She brought herself at last to make the effort of 
picking it up; and when she had smoothed it out, she sat down 
listlessly to read the last page. It was a dangerous thing to 
do at that moment; for she was in a keenly susceptible state. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 189 

and Ralph Kingscott's suggestions were apt to fall upon sus- 
ceptible minds like lighted matches upon tow. 

“ The matter has become a sore point with him altogether, 
more particularly as the fact of your husband's previous en- 
gagement to Mrs. Mon Crieff " — Molly now read on with inter- 
est — “ has but lately been made known to him. He is anx- 
ious and uneasy concerning some letters that Mrs. Moncrieff 
once wrote to Jack. If you want to do us a service, my dear, 
you had better get Jack to send them back. Your father will 
know no peace until they are destroyed, for he can not bear 
the thought of their existence. He will be much more likely 
to forgive your husband if he gets those letters away from 
him. But perhaps they are destroyed already. Could you 
not ascertain this, and let me know? You can write to me as 
much as you please. 1 still hope to soften your father's heart 
toward you. 

“Your affectionate uncle, 

“ Ralph Kingscott." 

Kingscott had probably calculated upon the effect that his 
letter was likely to produce, and had worded it so that it 
should have a perfectly innocent and friendly sound. He had 
no reason for wishing to sow dissension between Mr. and Mrs. 
Hannington, but he wanted to keep Molly away from home, 
he wanted to separate Alan and Stella, and he particularly 
wanted to retain his own powerful' position. To set Molly 
searching for Stella’s letters, and to get them into his own 
hands, would be to secure two very desirable results. 

Molly rose up from the reading of that letter with her brain 
on fire. Jack had letters from Stella Raeburn — now Stella 
Moncrieff, her father's wife — and would not give them up? 
What did that mean but that he still, in spite of his denial, 
loved Stella and cherished her memory. Molly set her teeth 
and pressed her hands closely together as she considered this 
possibility. And then there came an overwhelming desire to 
see for herself the letters of which her uncle spoke. She had 
no thought of making use of them for her own or Kingscott's 
ends; she only wanted passionately to see them. Did her hus- 
band keep them still? If so, had she not a right to find them 
and read them, as if they were her own? 

Poor Molly was not of a bad disposition; she would never 
develop into a wicked woman; but she was utterly untrained 
and uncontrolled. Stella's influence had been exerted for too 
short a time to retain its power over her; her father's author- 
ity had been authority simply, and had not made her reflect 


190 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


about questions of right and wrong. She was a spoiled, pas- 
sionate child — that was all; but she was in a position where 
the indulgence of her impulses were likely to have disastrous 
results for other people. 

It was with a face in which the hot color burned like two 
red flags of defiance, with cold and shaking hands,, and limbs 
that trembled under her, that she left the snug little private 
sitting-room at last, and made her way into Hannington's 
dressing-room. Here she looked round hopelessly. Where 
should she begin to search? He was not likely to leave his 
private papers in any place where she could find them easily. 
They were probably in that brass-bound desk of his, or in the 
dispatch-box — both safely locked and put away in a big trunk. 
And the keys would probably be in his pocket. Molly could 
not imagine herself picking a lock, although the moral guilt 
of doing so might not be greater than that of reading another 
woman’s letters to her husband. She sighed and almost gave 
up her scheme in that moment of discouragement. 

But what did she see upon the dressing-table, as if on pur- 
pose to tempt her to do amiss? Her husband's keys lay there 
in a little heap: some half dozen tiny glittering things on a 
steel ring which he generally carried in his pocket, and seldom 
indeed forgot. John Hannington was rather a careful man 
about small matters: it was rare indeed for him to leave things 
lying about. Molly hesitated for a moment only, and then 
seized upon the keys. Her heart beat violently as she opened 
the trunk and took out the dispatch-box: her hands trembled 
so that she could scarcely turn the key. If her husband came 
in while she was so engaged, she guessed that his wrath would 
be something terrible. But she was too eager and excited 
to be timid. Until she had found what she wanted, or given 
up the search in despair, the reaction was not likely to set in. 

In the dispatch-box she found many bundles of letters and 
papers, for the most part neatly tied up and docketed in a 
severely methodical manner. She tossed them over with hot, 
trembling fingers: she saw none in the handwriting that she 
had learned to know so well when Stella was her governess. 
She almost relinquished the task in despair. Then, at the 
very bottom of the box, her eyes fell on two slim papers tied 
together with a bit of black ribbon: one was black-edged, both 
were covered with the fine and pretty characters that betok- 
ened Stella's hand. Molly drew them out. She had found 
what she wanted, then, at last! 

“Two: were there only two? She turned over the other 
papers, but could find no more. She looked into the desk., 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


191 


into the other boxes and the drawers, but her search was un- 
successful. At last she reluctantly turned the keys, and, re- 
solving to put back the letters when she had read them, she 
crept into her own room and seated herself at her dressing- 
table to examine them. 

Only one seemed to be of any length or importance. The 
first was the letter written by Stella soon after her father's 
death, begging John Hannington to come to her. The next 
— ah, this was what froze Molly's heart as she read it — the 
next was that outpouring of girlish tenderness which Han- 
nington had found so embarrassing, so difficult to answer. 
Not knowing exactly how he had answered it, not knowing 
what had preceded it, but imagining all sorts of vows and prot- 
estations and caresses on his part, Molly worked herself up to 
a state of indignation and fury, in which it seemed as though 
every softer feeling had deserted her. 

“ And he could ask me to be his wife after all this!" she 
exclaimed to herself. “ And she could come among us with 
her soft looks and pretty ways and pretend that she had never 
cared for any man before! I know she pretended that, for I 
heard old Miss Jacky talking to papa one day, and solemnly 
assuring him that dear Stella had never cared for anybody in 
her life — except himself! She was false — false all round. I 
may have deceived papa for a time," thought Molly, begin- 
ning to cry at the remembrance, “ but I never, never deceived 
him as much as Stella Raeburn did when she consented to be 
his wife. And 1 was deceived too. Deceived by her, deceived 
by Jack! Oh, what can I do to punish them! -They deserve 
punishment! they deserve it!" 

She sobbed tempestuously for a time, her tears falling on 
the letters as Stella's had fallen when she wrote them those 
years before. When her sobs at last ceased she had grown 
quieter and gentler in feeling: she had come to the point of 
excusing her husband even if she could not forgive Stella. 
Toward Stella, indeed, her thoughts were of unmixed bitter- 
ness. Odd contradiction of feeling as it may seem to be, she 
was angry for her father's sake as well as for her own. He 
ought to have known — and she was sure that he had not been 
told before his marriage even if he had heard the truth later. 
The remembrance of her uncle's letter came back to her, and 
brought a strange gleam into her eyes. “ No wonder they 
want to get these letters back! Has Jack ever shown them to 
any one, I wonder? He shall not have the chance. I shall 
send them to Uncle Ralph: he says that papa wants them, 
and 1 am sure papa has a right to them. We will see what 


102 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Madame Stella will say to that! And if Jack dislikes it — so 
much the better: they had no business not to tell me!” 

She rose from her seat and began to look for writing mate- 
rials. She put Stella’s letters inside an envelope, and ad- 
dressed it to her uncle at Torresmuir. 

“He may do what he likes with them,” she said, with a 
firm setting of her lips. “ It is time they were destroyed.” 

Without .waiting for further reflection, she hastily donned 
her hat and ran down-stairs with the letter in her hand. There 
was a pillar-post not far from the hotel, and she felt as if the 
letter would be safer if she posted it with her own hands in- 
stead of giving it to a servant. 

She had never been alone in a London street before, and she 
had a sense of being very adventurous as she dropped her let- 
ter through the slit in the box. And when it was gone, a 
wild fear of consequences suddenly attacked her; and she 
would have given anything to recall the deed. She stood look- 
ing at the scarlet pillar, quite regardless of the fact that she 
was attracting the attention of the passers-by. At that mo- 
ment a postman appeared upon the scene, and, depositing his 
bag on the ground, unlocked the box and began to clear it of 
letters. Molly gave a sort of gasp of relief; her experiences 
of postmen were based only on the routine at Torresmuir and 
other country places, where postmen were personally known 
to all the country district, and were somewhat amenable to t 
private considerations. 

“ Oh, postman,” she said, “ I — I’ve put a letter in by mis- 
take; can you' give it me out again?” 

The postman was inclined to deem this a foolish joke and 
was on the point of returning a surly answer, until he saw 
Molly’s pretty troubled face and dainty clothes. Then he 
smiled, shook his head, and answered : 

“ Very sorry, miss. Couldn’t do that.” 

“ But I will show you the letter!” said Molly, piteously. 

“ I’ll give you half a crown for it, if you’ll let me take it 
out. ’ ’ 

“No use, miss. Couldn’t do it at any price,” said the 
postman. “ And if you’ll excuse me, miss. I’m in a hurry.” 

“ But, postman — ” 

“ Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Hannington?” said a 
voice behind her. And turning with a start, Molly found 
herself face to face with Captain Rutherford, whose kindly 
blue eyes and friendly smile gave her a sensation of unwonted 
peace and confidence. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


193 


“ Oh, 1 am so glad it is you!” she exclaimed, impulsively. 
44 I thought it was — ” 

Could she have been going to say 4 4 her husband?” The 
quick, scared look over his shoulder, the sudden hot blush, 
filled Charlie Rutherford’s heart with sorrow. 

44 1 have put a letter in here and 1 want it out again,” she 
went on. 44 Can’t I get it out?” 

44 I’m afraid not,” said Captain Rutherford, smiling at the 
proposal. 44 Was it very important?” 

By this time the postman had shouldered his bag and 
tramped away again, not without a smile at the futility of the 
young lady’s request. 

Molly, finding that he had gone, drew a long breath and 
glanced timidly at her companion. 

44 1 thought that he would have given me my own letter 
back,” she said, plaintively. 

44 A post-box is the very mouth of Fate,” said Charlie 
Rutherford, shaking his head. 44 What is done can not be un- 
done, I am afraid.” 

44 I’m afraid not,” said Molly, in a low voice. 

44 Are you going anywhere else? are you shopping, may I 
ask?” 

44 No, I came out only to post my letter.” 

44 May I walk back with you?” 

44 Oh,” said Molly, impulsively, 44 1 shall be so glad if you 
do.” 

She was hardly aware of the traces that tears and a mental 
struggle had left upon her face. Her eyelids were reddened; 
her cheeks were wofully pale, and her drooping lips twitched 
from time to time as if she could hardly restrain herself from 
tears. Captain Rutherford, however, saw it all, and he noted 
her silence, her evident depression, as they walked the few 
yards distance between the pillar and the hotel. When they 
reached the door, he paused, lifting his hat as if to take his 
leave. Whereupon Molly said, quite simply: 

‘ 4 Won’t you come in?” 

She was so utterly friendless that Charlie’s appearance put 
fresh heart into her, and made her reluctant to see him de- 
part. And, after a moment’s hesitation, but with a look of 
trouble dawning in his clear blue eyes, Charlie Rutherford fol- 
lowed her to her little sitting-room. 

44 1 hope you were not tired after your dissipation of the 
other night?” he ventured to say. 

44 Oh, no, not at all. I don’t think that I ever enjoyed 
anything so much in my life; 1 shall never enjoy anything so 

7 


194 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


much again — never !” cried Molly, with a burst of childish 
passion, which took her hearer by surprise. 

44 I should think that you wiil enjoy a great many things 
much more,” said Rutherford, kindly. 

44 Oh, no, I shall not. . . . And I don't deserve to enjoy 
anything. ... I know J vexed my father very much, but I 
never thought that he would not forgive me. ... It is that 
which is troubling me to-day.” Molly put her handkerchief 
to her eyes and hastily dashed away a gathering tear. 

44 You have heard from him again?" 

44 I have had a message. ” Molly's chin quivered as she spoke. 
44 He does not want to see me or hear of me again.” 

“ I am very sorry. But he will yield — in a little time he 
will change his mind,” said Charlie, with eager unreasonable- 
ness. 44 He can not always be so hard.” 

4 4 Oh, I don't know,” said Molly, looking away. 44 He was 
always rather stern to us. And I hardly thought that I had 
done wrong until — until — you looked so grave and surprised 
about it the other night. Since then I have felt — differently, 
somehow.” 

If she had been the most accomplished coquette in the whole 
of Christendom she could not have chosen words more likely 
to inflame young Rutherford’s ardor in her cause. 

44 Can I do anything for you? Should I ask my father to 
talk to Mr. Moncrieff? They are great friends, you know.” 

44 I'm afraid it would be of no use." 

44 1 can't bear to see you in trouble,” said Charlie, with a 
little break in his manly voice. 

Molly looked surprised. 44 It's very kind of you," she said. 
Then, with a sudden effort at sincerity: 44 It isn't only that 
makes me miserable. I had — other reasons.” She stopped 
short, and colored over cheek and brow. 

44 If I can help you in any , way, I shall always be ready,” 
said Captain Rutherford, in low, moved tones. 

Molly had no timQ to reply, for at that very moment the 
door was opened and John Hannington walked in. He cast a 
very sharp glance at Molly's flushed f&ce and then at Ruther- 
ford, but he greeted the latter with his usual affectation of 
semi- jocose frankness, and did not seem in any way astonished 
by his presence. Indeed, when Rutherford declared that he 
must go, Hannington invited him very cordially to dinner on 
the following evening, and would take no refusal. When the 
young man was gone, he turned back to his wife, who was 
sitting with her face averted from him, and touched her light- 
ly on the cheek. 44 Come, Molly,” he said, good-humoredly. 


i 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 195 

“ don't sulk. I said more than I meant. There is no need 
for you to look so tragic.” 

“ Oh, Jack,” she said, the tears beginning to stream over 
her white cheeks again, “ do you mean — do you really — love 
me— after all?” 

il Of course I do, as much as husbands generally love their 1 
wives, at any rate. I can't get up romantic sentiment, Molly, 
and I don't mean to. We may as well jog along as well as 
we can.'' 

He drew her toward him and kissed her. She neither 
looked up nor returned his kiss; a terrible feeling of guilt, 
anger, disgust, had taken possession of her. And she dared 
not tell him that she had purloined Stella's letters and sent 
them to Ralph Kingscott, nor ask him whether it was herself 
who was “ the only woman that he had ever loved." 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A CRISIS. 

Meanwhile at Torresmuir life seemed to have resumed its 
usual course. By the time the east winds had ceased and the 
J une flowers begun to blow, Ralph Kingscott was nearly well, 
and could attend to his duties on the estate. Bertie was sent 
to a tutor, and Stella tried to take up the threads of her life — 
although they had snapped of late in so many directions that 
she felt as if its warp and woof were fatally strained asunder. 
And in some respects she tried in vain. 

There was a certain day in spring that lived long in her re- 
membrance. It was before Bertie went away — before Ralph 
Kingscott had returned to active life. It was shortly after a 
letter had been received from Molly, asking once more for her 
father's forgiveness; a letter which, as we already know, had 
been answered by Ralph Kingscott, who took upon himself to 
heighten considerably the effect of Alan Moncrieff 's displeasure 
in the message that he gave. Alan's own words had not been 
nearly as harsh as they were represented, and he had never 
meant to refuse definitely to help his daughter in her need. 
But his words of inquiry as to the reason of her distress for 
money were capable of being twisted a good many ways; and 
it was Ralph's interest to divide the father and daughter as 
much and as long as possible. 

After the dispatch of Ralph's letter, Mr. Moncrieff was 
noticeably restless and uneasy. He did not say to any one 
that he wanted to hear again from Molly, but Stella surmised 
that he was anxious on that account. He had shown consid- 


196 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


erable anger when she had placed Molly’s letter before him, 
but she knew that he had made a half apology to her after- 
ward for his irritability. And then on a certain May morn- 
ing Molly’s answer came. 

The post-bag was brought to Mr. Moncrieff about noon. 
He was in the porch of the house when it arrived — talking to 
Bertie about fishing-tackle, and engaged with the lad in an 
examination of the fly-book. Stella had stepped into the 
porch for a moment also, to enjoy the clear, bright sunlight 
and the exquisite view of purple distances, winding silver 
streams, and budding green foliage. She was glad to see her 
husband and his son together — glad to hear Bertie’s laugh — 
clearer and franker than it used to be — once more, and to note 
that Alan’s tone was cheerier than it had sounded for many a 
day. He gave her a smile of greeting as she approached. 
Something warm and bright seemed to have come into his 
face. He had been fighting a hard battle with himself ever 
since the news of Molly’s elopement had reached him; and 
now a crisis had been reached, and he honestly believed that 
he had won the victory. He could afford to smile in his old 
kindly fashion when he had made up his mind to accept the 
truth of his daughter’s penitence, and forgive her for the 
wrong done to himself. 

The letter-bag was brought to him by the butler, and Stella 
handed him the key. She saw that his hand trembled a little 
as he put it into the lock. 

There were half a dozen letters for himself; none for Stella, 
three for the servants, one for Bertie, one for Ralph Kingscott. 
It was over this letter that Alan lingered for a moment. He 
handed the bag back to the servant with the letters for cook 
and house-maids, gave Bertie his own, put the envelope for 
Ralph face downward on the window-sill, and began to open 
and read his own letters. But Stella’s heart gave a sudden 
leap, for she had seen the handwriting on the letter addressed 
to Mr. Kingscott. It was another communication from Molly 
— perhaps more satisfactory than the last. 

In five minutes Alan stuffed his own papers into his pockets, 
and said, rather abruptly: 

“ I’ll take Ralph his letter. ” 

Then he strode into the house and went toward the tower, 
where he knew that at that moment Ralph was engaged. 

Stella went to the drawing-room, hoping that he would 
come to her and give her news of Molly. But an hour or two 
passed by, and she saw nothing of him. The luncheon-bell 
rang; but he did not come to luncheon. Ralph came, with a 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


197 


curiously cold smile lurking about the corners of his lips,, as if 
he knew something that he did not choose to tell; but Stella 
would not question him. Alan had gone out, he said inci- 
dentally in the course of the meal, and would not be back till 
dinner-time — if then. Stella silently surmised that there had 
been bad news in that letter from poor Molly. 

She did not see her husband again until the dinner-hour; 
and then she felt rather than saw that a change of some kind 
had passed over him. He was unusually pale, very silent, and 
somewhat restrained in manner; he avoided meeting Stella’s 
eye, or entering into conversation with her; and shortly after 
dinner went away to his study and did not reappear in the 
drawing-room. 

Stella’s anxiety overleaped all bounds. She would not ask 
Ralph Kingscott for news of Molly, but she surely might ask 
Alan. He could not be angry with her for that. Molly per- 
haps was ill or in trouble. Stella did not think that John 
Hannington was likely to prove a very loving husband. At 
the risk of being thought troublesome and intrusive, she de- 
cided upon going to her husband to inquire. 

It was after ten o’clock when she knocked at the study 
door. She heard Alan’s footsteps as he paced up and down 
the room. The sound stopped; she heard him walk to the 
door and unlock it. Then he said, “ Come in.” 

But when she presented herself in the door-way, she was 
certain that some trace of surprise was visible on his grave, 
pale face. He did not, however, show it in words; he has- 
tened at once, with even more than his usual courtesy, to close 
the door for her, to set her a chair, and to ask— formally 
enough — if there were anything that he could do for her? 

Stella sat down. The room was very dark, for the fire sent 
out only a dull red glow, and the lighted lamp on the writing- 
table was covered with a green shade. Such light as there 
was fell full upon Stella’s face, but Alan— moving backward 
and forward beside the table as he spoke to her — kept his 
countenance in shadow. 

“ Can I do anything for you?” he asked, after a moment’s^ 
pause. 

“ Oh, Alan,” the young wife broke out earnestly, “ I am 
so afraid that you have had bad news to-day !” 

“Bad news?” he repeated, mechanically; and then he 
stopped short, laying one hand on the table at his side. 
“Yes,” he added, in a lower tone, “ yes— I have had bad 
news.” 


198 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“About Molly?” she breathed — almost afraid to speak 
aloud. “ From Molly herself? I saw her writing—” 

“ It was nothing,” said Alan, resuming his slow walk with- 
out glancing at her face. “ Nothing, 1 mean, that you would 
care to hear. It would be no pleasure to you.” 

“ Of course, no trouble of Molly’s would give me any 
pleasure to hear of,” said Stella, almost indignantly. “ But 
I might be able to help— to sympathize— if you were grieved 
about it, I should be grieved too—” 

She had difficulty in uttering even these few and discon- 
nected words. His silence, his bowed head and shoulders, 
gave her a strange sensation of fear. 

“ Is there nothing for me to hear?” she said at last, almost 
desperately. 

Moncrieff stopped short again, placed both hands on the 
table, and leaning forward a little, looked at her steadily. 

“ Why,” he said, deliberately, “ should you be so anxious 
about the matter?” 

“ Because I see that you are anxious, Alan, and I want, if 
possible, to help you.” 

“ My anxiety is so important to you?” Was there a slight 
sneer in the tone of his voice? 

“ Yes, indeed it is. How should it not be important to me? 
Oh, Alan, do you forget that you are my husband?” Stella 
cried, with an accent of reproach that cut her listener to the 
heart. “ Alan, Alan, what can you mean?” 

“ Forget it? No,” he answered, slowly. “ I remember it 
—but too well. I mean,” said Moncrieff, moving toward 
her, and still regarding her with the same steadfast look, 
“ that our experiment has failed. I told you some time ago 
that I had certain matters to discuss with you; I had resolved 
to drop the subject, but an inclosure from Molly this morning 
disposes me to speak more freely. 1 asked you to marry me 
in order to help me — that, I think, was the way in which I 
put it; a plain, perhaps 'even a brutal way, but one which you 
did not seem to resent — ” 

^ “No,” Stella’s dry lips answered, in dumb show, for she 

could not speak a word. And Alan went on : 

“ You have done your best; you have helped me — in many 
respects, as you promised to do. But — one thing I did ask 
for; not your love — I did not think it fair to ask for your love 
— but for truth and candor; and these, I scarcely think, 
Stella, that you have shown. ” 

His voice was peculiarly gentle, and yet very cold. Stella’s 
face flushed crimson, but she spoke out bravely. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


199 


44 I do not know how I have failed in these,” she said, 44 ex- 
cept by delaying to tell you of the entanglement that 1 had 
discovered between Molly and Mr. Hannington — and that was 
an error of judgment not proceeding from untruthfulness. 
And then there was my own engagement — if you can call it an 
engagement — to Mr. Hannington before 1 knew you; it lasted 
for a few days only, and was — surely — scarcely worth the tell- 
ing. But I would not have been silent about it if I had 
thought that you cared to know. ” 

Alan paused, as if to consider. 

44 And yet,” he said, quietly, “ when I asked you whether 
there was any man whom you preferred — ” 

44 I said no,” said Stella, rising from her chair in uncon- 
trollable agitation, 4 4 and 1 say so again.” 

Her face burned, but her eyes looked straight into her hus- 
band's, and, if he had not been blinded by prejudice and sus- 
picion, he must have seen that she was speaking the truth. 

44 You say so again?” he repeated, slowly. 44 That has 
nothing to do with the matter. 1 am speaking of the day at 
St. Andrews when you promised to marry me. Then — then — 
was there no other man whom you loved better than myself?” 

The change in the form of the question disconcerted Stella. 
She stood silent, with downcast eyes. 

44 The answer to the question lies here,” said Alan, sudden- 
ly throwing an envelope which he had produced from his 
pocket upon the table. 44 You had written these letters to 
John Hannington not so very long before. Does a woman's 
heart change so quickly? Bather, I am inclined to believe, 
you chose to say what you did not quite mean; you chose to 
make me think that you preferred me, so that you might not 
lose your chance of making what the world calls a brilliant 
marriage. Well, you had what you wished for; and you now 
see the result. A marriage that begins in deceit is sure to end 
in loveless misery. ” 

His voice had grown so harsh, his tone so bitter, that Stella 
was stimulated to say a word in self-defense. 

44 1 never voluntarily deceived you, Alan.” 

He pointed to the envelope on the table. 

44 Perhaps you have forgotten what you wrote there? May 
I ask you kindly to glance over those letters— which, by the 
bye, you may keep, as I have no wish to retain them. ” 

Stella's hand closed on the envelope. She moved away 
from the table as if about to leave the room, but her hus- 
band's voice detained her. 


200 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ I should prefer your looking at them now, if you have no 
objection.” 

Stella had an objection — she had many objections, but none 
of them would, she knew, prevail against the force of her hus- 
band's will. With trembling fingers she opened the envelope 
and took thence those two piteous little letters to John Han- 
nington — letters written in such anguish of soul, but also in 
such perfect trust and love. She tried to read the words, but 
they danced before her eyes. 

“ You have read them?” said Alan's voice at last. It had 
lost its momentary vehemence, and was calm and suave as 
usual. “You have read them?'' 

“ I remember what I said,'' returned Stella, with difficulty. 

“ And — what else? You did not mean what you said, per- 
haps? You have also some explanation ^o give — some ex- 
cuse — " 

“ No,'' said Stella, becoming calmer as she spoke. “ You 
are quite mistaken. These letters do not want explanation. I 
meant every word of them — every word.'' 

Alan's face turned still more pale. “ Yet you tell me that 
you have not deceived me?'' he said, with shaking voice. 
“ You loved this man when ytm married me — and you told 
me — You juggle with words as all women do. The fact is 
plain enough: you led me to believe that your heart was free, 
and at the same time it was given to another man ! I call that 
deceit; I say that you made me believe a lie.'' 

Stella looked at him gravely, soberly, from out those beau- 
tiful eyes, the tranquillity of which had always been to him 
their greatest charm. Her agitation had vanished; she was 
perfectly collected and unmoved. The shock of his unjust 
judgment of her had steadied her trembling nerves. 

“ You are wrong,” she said, with curious quietness. “ No, 
hear me, Alan; I must and will speak now. You have read 
my letters, it seems — a thing that I should scarcely have ex- 
pected you to do — but I will forgive you for it if we are led 
thereby to a full explanation; a clearing away of the cloud 
that has lately hung about us. You seem to think that I 
wrote those letters immediately before 1 promised to marry 
you. If you look at the dates you will see that they were 
written a year before. A year is a long time in a young girl's 
life, Alan. John Hannington had indeed* won my girlish 
love, but he had cast me off when he found that I was poor; 
he wrote to me — rejecting the love that he had won — ” A 
little catch in her breath made her pause; the color mounted 
to her brow at the remembrance of the treatment that she had 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


201 


received; and Alan^s brow grew black as night at the thought 
of it. Presently, however, she resumed, in the same tranquil 
voice, 44 I was pained — humiliated — for a time I even thought 
that I was heart-broken. But little by little I learned that it was 
not so. My fancy had been touched; but 1 had never given 
my whole heart to John Hannington. I had kept that for — 
another — for a worthier man. ” 

She stopped short again, breathing quickly. Alan looked 
at her eagerly; he even made a step toward her, but he did 
not speak. 

“ It took me some time to find all this out,” said Stella, 
after a little pause. 44 1 did not know — 1 could not tell — at 
once. When you asked me to be your wife, 1 felt that my 
greatest happiness would be to help you. I had lost all my 
love for Mr. Hannington, but I did not know — I was not sure 
whether 1 could care for anybody else in the same way. And 
it has never been the same way. The love that I have borne 
to my husband has been deeper, truer than any I ever knew 
before; it is different in its essence from any other; I gave 
him— -long ago — my whole heart, my whole soul.” 

44 Stella! Stella!” cried Alan, stretching out his hands. But 
she would not take them; she drew herself up to her full 
height, and let him see that her tranquil eyes could flash in- 
dignant fire. 

44 Not yet!” she said. 44 Not yet! I have more to say. I 
did not find this out for some time, but 1 knew enough of my 
own heart to be able to say truthfully that there was no man 
who had a claim to me, no man whom I preferred. It was 
much less than the truth — but a woman is not bound to give 
more than she has been asked for, Alan, and you — you never 
asked me for my love. I gave that to you unsought.” 

44 You gave it to me? You loved me all the while? Stella, 
my darling — 99 

44 Listen,” she went on, inflexibly. 44 Everything must be 
said now if ever it is to be said at all. I loved you, I say; and 
you threw my love back into my face. You have distrusted 
me — insulted me — been harsher and crueler and colder to me 
than John Hannington himself; and I have not been able to 
bear it, Alan; 1 think love will bear anything but injustice to 
itself — disbelief in its existence. That hurts it, maims it — 
kills it finally; there comes a day when you look for it and it 
is dead.” 


202 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


CHAPTER XXXL 
“not in the bond." 

“ Is your love for me dead, then, Stella?” Moncrieff asked. 

She had sunk back wearily in her chair, and he stood before 
her, with arms crossed upon his breast, with a gray pallor 
about his lips, and a look of bitter pain in his deep-set eyes. 
She sighed as she made answer: 

“ I am afraid so.” 

“ You mean that I have killed it? I — I don’t understand. 
I am very obtuse, I know, but — what have I done? Let me 
have the whole truth; I want to know the worst.” 

“ What have you done? Can you ask the question of me? 
Ask yourself.” 

“ I do ask myself,” said Alan, in a tone where a suppressed 
vehemence began to make itself audible, “ and I do not see 
that I have much to reproach myself with.” She looked at 
him mutely, and the silent mournfulness that had crept into 
her eyes cut him to the heart. <£ What have I done? Are 
you so different from other women that I must not think of 
you as I have thought of them? I suppose that is my fault: 1 
have not set you up on a sufficiently high pedestal: I have not 
pretended to worship: I have been too sincere — ” 

“ AT hat right have you to judge women as you have judged 
them?” Stella asked. 

“ The right of long study, the right of a man who has been 
duped and tricked all his life long. ” Alan spoke out passion- 
ately. “ Why should I, of all men, have any faith in them? 
My mother broke my father’s heart. My wife married me for 
my money. My daughter has robbed me and run away from 
home. You, Stella, you — ” 

His voice broke, he could say no more. 

“I,” said Stella, gently, “ have often been foolish and ill- 
advised, but never untrue. You have condemned me unheard 
all along — from your experience of other women, not from 
your experience of me.” 

He looked at her and set his teeth, but he could find no 
words in which to reply. 

“You have not meant to be cruel,” she went on, the tears 
coming to her eyes: but you have often been very cruel to me, 
Alan. You have been suspicious and unjust. It has been 
with your children as with me; you have never trusted them 
or let them feel that you loved them. It was worse for them 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


203 


than for me— I should not say that it is the same — for they 
at least had a claim to your love : it was their right, and you 
hid it from them until they thought that it was not there at 
all. Can you wonder then if they distrusted you in turn?” 

“ It was your right, too,” he said, hoarsely. 44 You had a 
wife's claim — ” 

“ No, no, indeed 1 had not,” cried Stella, suddenly burst- 
ing into tears. “ That was not in the bond, Alau, and that 
is the worst of it. You never asked me for my love, and you 
never gave me your own. That is why our marriage has been 
such a failure, such a mistake. 1 ought not to have answered 
you when you asked me to marry you. ” ‘ 

“ Because you did not love me?” 

“ Because you had no love for me,” said his wife, passion- 
ately, “and because no woman should give herself for any- 
thing but love. I was weak enough to think that I could 
conquer your coldness to me. It was not long before I 
learned that 1 loved you; that I would give all the world for 
a smile from you, a really tender, loving word. I did not find 
out how much I cared until I was your wife. And then 1 
hoped — I tried — I prayed. Oh, what use was it all? You 
were like a rock: you had no heart, no pity: you wanted a 
chaperon for your daughter — that was all; and as a friend you 
prefered Ralph Kingscott's society to mine. Do you think I 
have not suffered? Do you think my life has been a very easy 
one? You promised once to make me a happy woman; but 
you forgot that promise when you brought me to Torresmuir.” 

Moncrieff's face had grown very white as she hurled her 
words at him; he was aghast at her vehemence. He had never 
seen her so intensely moved before. 

“ I tried to make you happy,” he said, in a low voice. 

“ Did you think that 1 could be happy when you treated me 
like a child?” she asked. “ When you gave me fine clothes 
and jewels, and made me the mistress of your household, did 
you think that I should be satisfied? Oh, there has been 
something wanting from the very first; there has been a gap 
which nothing could fill. I wanted your love, Alan; I asked 
for bread and you gave me a stone.” 

“ Stella — Stella — you have not understood me.” 

“ Not understood you? Have I given a wrong version of 
the story of our married life? will it be a better one if I go on 
to the next phase of it? coldness followed by distrust, by dis- 
pleasure and reproaches. Was that any more consoling to 
me? Was it the way to make me happy? — to show by every 
look and every word that you had no confidence in me, that 


204 


THE LUCE OF THE HOUSE. 


you believed me ready to deceive you at every turn? I could 
forgive the coldness — 1 can not forgive the distrust . 99 

She turned away, covering her face with her hands, her 
whole form shaken by her sobs. Alan stood regarding her with 
a look strangely compounded of amazement, sadness, self- 
reproach, and a tenderness for which she would hardly have 
given him credit. At last, and when her sobs were dying 
away, he spoke in a voice kept studiously low and calm. 

44 I suppose it is no use to try to justify one's self, Stella; but 
there are one or two things that I think I must say. As re- 
gards the coldness, I — I — think you were mistaken. I did 
not feel coldly. I — Well," observing a slight shudder run 
through her frame, as though her whole being revolted against 
what he said, 4 4 1 need not continue on that tack, I see. As 
to the distrust — yes, I acknowledge that it was there. It came 
from my general idea about women; I thought that all women 
were deceitful and uncandid; I made no exceptions — even for 
my wife. I confess this, Stella, and I will also add that you 
have conquered me; I do believe in your truth, and I will 
never doubt it again. Will this* suffice?" 

4 ‘ It is too late," she murmured. 

44 Too late for what? Not too late to show my trust in you; 
Stella, you shall never blame me again for want of confidence. 
Gan you not believe me?" 

His earnestness made her lift her drooping head and look at 
him with her pathetic, tear-filled eyes. But there was no sign 
of relenting in her face. 

44 1 would if I could, Alan," she said, wistfully. 44 It is not 
by my will that I seem hard and cold. It is because I know 
that if you have distrusted people all your life, you can not 
suddenly change your habit of mind at the word of command 
— you can not really believe where you have doubted simply 
because you wish to believe. It is impossible." 

44 It is not impossible, Stella, because it is true." 

44 No," she said, shaking her head, and drawing in her 
breath a little, 44 it can’t be true. Look, Alan," she went on, 
with sudden energy and decision, 44 when lives have gone 
wrong as ours have done, it is useless to think of putting them 
right by a few words of apology and pretense. You are sorry, 
1 believe, to see that I take the matter so much to heart; you 
do for the moment feel as if you trusted me; but to-morrow 
there will be some new little cause for suspicion; Mr. Kings- 
cott will say something slighting, or you will see me do a 
thing that you do not perfectly understand; and you will go 
back to your old views of women, and your old views of me. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


205 


and it will be ten times harder for me to see you relapse into 
the old distrust than if I had never listened to what you say 
to-night.” 

“ It shall not be so, Stella; I swear it!” 

“It is no use. Where is your common sen^e, Alan?” she 
asked, more quietly, but with as much decision as ever. 
“We are not two silly fools, you and I, who think that we 
can change nature at a word. You can not alter your con- 
victions of years* standing, because you are sorry to see me 
cry. For once you are unreasonable!** 

“You are hard on me, Stella,** said the man, turning aside 
a little. “ 1 have not, perhaps, mistrusted you quite as much 
as you imagine.** 

“ Oh, hush, hush!** she cried, almost indignantly. “ Don*t 
palter with the truth — even to make amends to me. It is a 
waste of time on your part. 1 have a better plan than that 
for restoring your peace of mind — and mine. We have failed 
to be happy together, and I have been of no use to Molly; I 
can be no use to her now, for you will not listen when I plead 
with you to forgive her. You are merciless to her as you are 
merciless to me. ** 

“ God knows,” said Alan, between his teeth, “ that I am 
not — 1 have never meant to be merciless.** He spoke dogged- 
ly, but without softness. 

“ Then be merciful now,** said his wife, quickly, “ and set 
me free.** 

“Set you free! What do you mean?** 

“ Let me go out of this house,** she pleaded. “ Let me 
leave Torresmuir. I will make no scandal. I will go quietly 
and openly — as if I were going for a long visit somewhere — 
and nobody will know that I do not mean to come back 
again. ** * 

“ Stella, are you mad?** 

“ Indeed, indeed, 1 think it would be the best way,** she 
said. “ We do not love each other. How can we be happy?” 

“ That is not the question,** said Alan, almost harshly. 
“You have a duty to me, and I have one to you; we can not 
be free from one another. ** 

“ Other people have been made free; it is not an unheard- 
of thing. Why should you want me to be miserable? I could 
go away to London, or to some quiet country place, and get 
pupils; I think I could take care of little girls, and I should be 
at rest and at peace. It is cruel to keep me here— now!** 

“ My poor child,** said MoncrieF, very slowly and pityingly, 
“ I would do anything in the world to make you happier, if it 


THE LTJCK OF THE HOUSE. 


were right; but this is not right. I have sworn to take care 
of you to your life’s end; I must not break that vow. And 
you have promised me too. ” 

“ But you could release me ?” she said, eagerly. She turned 
and looked at him, her soul in her eyes, her breath coming 
and going quickly between her parted lips. He also looked 
sadly, searchingly, intently, and replied: 

“ I shall never release you. You are my wife.” 

Then as her whole form seemed to collapse before him, as 
the tension of her nerves gave way, he caught her in his arms 
and held her, half fainting, closely to his breast. 

“ You are my wife,” he said, in a tone of dogged reso- 
lution, “ and I will never let you go — you shall forgive me 
first. ” 

He could not tell — he did not much care — whether she 
heard his words or not. When he looked at her fair face it 
was white as death, her eyelids were closed, and her head fell 
heavily against his breast. The strain had been too much for 
her, and she had fainted in his arms. 

Stella did not remember (although she was afterward told) 
that she was carried up to her room in Alan’s arms; but she 
had a faint, vague sense, as she came to herself, that some one 
was holding her closely, kissing her cold face, and murmuring 
broken, passionate words of love — but when she moved and 
opened her eyes she thought that it must have been a dream, 
for no one was near her but her maid, and Alan had evidently 
gone down-stair^ again. 

“ How did I get here?” she asked feebly, by and by. 

“ Master carried you upstairs, ma’am, and called me,” said 
the maid. And then, with a furtive glance at her mistress’s 
face, she added; “ He was in a great way about you, ma’am — 
holding your hand and kissing you — ” 

“ Give me the sal volatile, please,” said Stella. “You can 
leave me now, Jackson; I am better.” 

And J ackson had to go. 

Stella was unable to rise from her bed, however, for tne 
next day or two. She felt weak and broken, as if she had had 
a severe illness. As soon as she lifted her head from the pillow 
she turned dizzy and faint; and the doctor, whom Alan had 
called in, recommended perfect rest and quiet. This could 
easily be obtained : there was nobody, as she thought to herself 
with a great swelling of heart, nobody to visit her, to sit by 
her and nurse her and console her if she were ill. Poor Molly 
was far away: Aunt Jacky lay silent in the grave. Stella had 
not made many women friends in the neighborhood; and Lady 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


207 


Val, who would have been genuinely kind to her if she had 
had the opportunity, had taken a house in London. Jackson, 
the English maid, was a kind but solemn person: Bertie, who 
was just starting for his new tutor's house, came to ask after 
her once or twice and then to say good-bye. She saw nobody 
else. Mr. Moncrielf inquired at the door, and was answered 
by Jackson, but he refused to come in. Stella was glad of it; 
she felt too weak and weary and hurt in mind to wish to see 
his face again. 

But on the fifth day, the sun shone brightly into her room 
and inspired her with a wish to get up. As the doctor had 
ordered that she should do exactly as she pleased, there was no 
difficulty about this; and at four o'clock she was seated in a 
comfortable chair near her dressing-room window, whence she 
could see the trees and the hills. It was not the most beauti- 
ful view to be obtained from the windows of her room, but she 
felt less liking than usual for the sparkling brilliance of the 
view of the distant valley, and was glad to look at simple 
green trees and ordinary grass. She was not able to bear 
much light, and her eyes soon grew dim and tired: she closed 
them for a time, and must have fallen into a quiet doze, for 
when she looked up at last, with a sudden start, she found 
that she was not alone. Alan had come softly into the room, 
and stood leaning against the window, watching her as she 
slept. In the first moment of waking, Stella could almost 
have thought that she read a new expression in his face — a 
look of tenderness, a look of contrition and concern. But 
when she started up, the softness of that new expression 
passed away; his face was once more grave and rather stern, 
and at the sight of it she felt her heart begin to beat painfully 
fast and her breath to come short and fast with a sensation of 
fear and distress. 

He noticed her change of demeanor, and a look of acute 
pain passed over his face. 

44 I came to see for myself how you were," he said, coldly, 
but with an accent of embarrassment. 4 4 1 hope you are feel- 
ing better?" 

44 Yes, thank you," said Stella, not daring to look up. Her 
color fluctuated sadly. 

4 4 1 brought you some flowers," Alan went on — the con- 
straint of his manner becoming more and more apparent as he 
spoke. 44 You have not been outside the door for so many 
days that I thought you might care for these. " 

Stella looked up, not roused to any vivid interest. What 
did she care just then for flowers — exotics, she supposed, 


208 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


grown in a hot-house, and bought with the coin of which he 
was always lavish? But when she saw what was in his hand 
she uttered an involuntary little cry of surprise and delight. 

Violets, blue and white, primroses, anemones, the damp 
earthy smell still clinging about their stalks and leaves, an 
orchid or two such as grow wild in ^hat part of the world, a 
host of delicate ferns, newly uncurled from their nests in the 
warm ground — these formed just such a posy as Stella loved. 
True, they were badly put together: the stalks were uneven, 
the leaves ragged, the whole as unharmonious as spring flowers 
ever could be, but the scent of the wild sweet blossoms was 
delicious, and the suggestion of spring and sunshine irresistibly 
grateful t6 Stella's senses. 

And the giver? Never did donor of a bouquet look more 
unfitted to grope among wet leaves on damp hill- sides in 
search of spring flowers than Alan Mon crieff, with his grave, 
proud face and stately presence! And yet he lost no iota of 
his dignity as he laid his little offering on Stella's knee, with a 
simple gravity which made the action seem natural and in 
keeping with his character. Stella looked at him gratefully. 

“ Thank you — oh, thank you: I like them so much." 

He watched the white fingers — they had grown thin of late 
— as they toyed with the fragrant flowers and held them to her 
nostrils, and then, still watching them, he said: 

“ I have — if ypu will allow me — a request to make." 

“ Yes," she breathed, the brightness vanishing hastily from 
her face. 

“ I should like to ask you," said Alan, “ to promise me — if 
you will — to take no steps without informing me — I mean 
concerning the — the proposal you made on Monday night. 
You will not leave Torresmuir, for instance, without at least 
telling me first. " 

“No," said Stella, faintly. 

“ When you are stronger," her husband went on, “ we can 
discuss the matter further, if you like. But }'OU — you will 
not do anything without consulting me — you promise?" 

4 ‘ I promise. ' ' 

“Thank you." It was wonderful to hear with what ear- 
nestness he spoke. “ Now, I shall feel secure. " 

“ But suppose I break my promise?" some strange in- 
fluence prompted Stella to say. “You trust no one: do not 
trust me." 

“ 1 would trust you with my life," he answered, in a tone 
of curious intensity. “ My life — my honor — my all." 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


209 


She shrunk a little, and began nervously to rearrange the 
flowers. After a short pause he spoke in more ordinary tones. 

“ I had one thing to tell you. I have written to — to Molly 
and Hannington. I have given them the money they wanted. 
I thought you might like to know.” 

“ And — your forgiveness?” said Stella, quickly. 

But to this question she got no answer. Jackson entered 
with a cup of tea, and Mr. Moncrieff, succumbing beneath 
her disapproving glances, was obliged to quit the room. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

LADY VAL'S FRIENDSHIP. 

“Why should I go to see your new little friend?” said 
Lady Yal, idly. “ I’m not philanthropic, Charlie.” 

She was sitting in a low chair beside a little scarlet tea- 
table, in a pleasant, luxuriously furnished room overlooking 
the park. Through the high windows one could catch 
glimpses of soft bine sky and pale green foliage that showed 
the approach of summer days. Every table in Lady VaPs 
drawing-room was crowded with pots and vases of flowers; 
they were “ her one extravagance,” she used to declare. Other 
people thought that she had considerably more than one. 

Opposite Lady Yal, on another low chair, sat Charlie 
Rutherford. He was stooping forward to play with the silky 
ears of a dainty little dog — Lady YaPs latest favorite — but the 
attitude was evidently assumed to conceal some trace of 
nervousness or embarrassment, and his hostess's quick eye 
noted the reason without loss of time. 

“ Don't tease Chico,” she said, “ but sit up and tell me all 
about your protegee — oh, that isn't the right word, I see! 
Never mind. Who is she, and why should I take an interest 
in her?” 

“ She comes from your part of the country, Lady Val,” 
said the young man, solemnly, “ and she is very unhappy and 
in want of friends.” 

“Yes, but, my dear boy, I can't go and see everybody who 
is in want of friends! Why is she in want of friends? Isn't* 
she in our own set? I will have nothing to do with any 
quixotism, remember; it is not in my line.” 

“ You have changed. Lady Valencia, " said Captain Ruther- 
ford, reproachfully. “ You used to be always so ready to 
help.” 

“ That was in the days when I was a nobody,” said Lady 
Val, composedly. “ It did not much matter then what I did 


210 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


or where I went. Times are changed, Charlie, and I have 
changed with them — perhaps. ” 

“ But not in that way!” said Charlie, with the warm- 
hearted simplicity which was always characteristic of him. 
“ You can not have grown less kind, less sympathetic than 
you used to be, although you are so much richer and grander. 
Lady Val! If I thought that, I should regret the change in- 
deed. But everybody knows that you are one of the most 
generous women in London.” 

“ Does your young friend want a five-pound note?” said 
Lady Val, with a p] eased but mocking light in her fine dark 
eyes. “Iam quite open to flattery, I acknowledge; but the 
sooner you let me know what is required of me, the better, 
Charlie!” 

“ She is not in want of money as far as I know,” answered 
Charlie — far too much in earnest to respond in a suitably 
light-hearted manner to Lady Valencia’s jesting; “but she 
wants friendly counsel and advice. She is a mere child, al- 
though a married woman ; and as she married against the wish 
of her friends, they are not taking any notice of her — ” 

Lady Val had taken up a great scarlet and black fan which 
lay on a painted milking-stool beside her, and was swinging it 
slowly backward and forward. She now let it rest against her 
lips, and listened more intently, a slight frown making itself 
visible on her curved black brows. 

“ And she is awfully grieved about it; she seems to be so 
fond of her father, and it is so sad for her to be all alone in 
London without a friend. Her husband — well, I suppose 
she’s fond of him, but a man can’t always be at home, you 
know, and she sits alone and — and — cries her heart out.” 
And then Charlie leaned back in his chair looking quite over- 
come by the picture that he had drawn. 

“ It can not be,” said Lady Valencia, with more than her 
usual crispness of enunciation, “ that you are trying to enlist 
my sympathies on behalf of Alan Moncrieff’s runaway 
daughter?” 

Charlie looked at her. “ I never heard that it was a crime 
for a girl to marry the man she loved, even if it were against 
her father will,” he said, stiffly. 

“ Against her father’s will. Her father never was asked,” 
said Lady Val, dryly. She laid down her fan; the hot color 
had leaped into her face, and her eyes were unnaturally 
bright. “ Excuse me, Charlie, I know the circumstances, 
and 1 know Molly Moncrieff — that is to say, I used to know 
her. She behaved very badly to her father — who is one of the 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


211 


most upright, honorable, kind-hearted men in Scotland — and 
I can not say that I am altogether sorry if she now finds her 
position disagreeable." 

Charlie rose from his chair. “ If that is the view you take 
of it, I won't trouble you any longer. Lady Val," he said, 
with a fine dignity, which was perhaps a little bit impaired by 
something of boyish tremor in his voice. “ My father and 
Mr. Moncrieff were friends so long that 1 can't help thinking 
of Mrs. Hannington as a friend too, and 1 don't like to hear 
her conduct put in what seems to me an unjust light. I think 
I must be going now, and I'll — I'll — wish you good-afternoon. 
Lady Valencia." 

He bowed and made his way to the door, quite forgetting to 
shake hands with his hostess. Lady Val let him make his way 
down the long drawing-room without a word of reply; but she 
watched him with a very inscrutable look in her eyes, and 
when he was fumbling with the door-handle she broke into a 
little laugh and called him back to her. 

“ Don't go like that, you dear silly boy — excuse me, 
Charlie, but you know I always look on you as one of my 
younger brothers, and I take the privilege of speaking my 
mind. Come back and tell me about Molly; I'm really sorry 
for the poor child, although she did make such a — such a fool 
of herself! Perhaps it was not altogether her fault, however; 
she is certainly a child — a mere child!" and a quick sigh fol- 
lowed the words. 

“Yes, indeed. Lady Val, and so innocent-minded and 
candid," said Charlie, much relieved by his hostess's change 
of front, and eager to seat himself again and talk of Molly's 
many perfections. “ Of course it was not her fault; it was all 
that fellow, John Hannington's, no doubt. I hope he knows 
what a prize he has got, that's all." 

“ I hope he does," said Lady Val. “ Molly has no harm 
in her — I am sure of that; and a pure-minded, affectionate 
girl, even if she had been a little silly to begin with, might 
still make him an admirable wife. " 

“ Far better than he deserves!" growled Captain Ruther- 
ford. 

“ Well, Jack Hannington used to be rather a great friend 
of mine," avowed Lady Val, courageously, “ and I'm not 
going to hear him abused by you. Master Charlie. I must say 
I think the two have made a great mistake. But it may turn 
out well in the end. " 

“ You don't take the romantic view; some people say ‘ all 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


212 

for love and the world well lost '; don't they?" said Charlie, 
rather awkwardly. 

“ They do. And I'm not sure whether I don't agree with 
them. But ‘ the world well lost ' where John Hannington is 
concerned?" — she spoke bitterly — “ can you imagine that he 
was so simple-minded?" 

“ You don't mean that he did not care for her?" said 
Charlie, turning very red. 

“No, no, of course not," she answered, hastily. “What 
was I saying? I only made a general remark, and you need 
not ruffle up your feathers over it in that way, Charlie. I 
hope, by the bye, that you are not going to pose as poor 
Molly's defender and preux chevalier. That is not the way 
to do her any good. A young pretty married woman wants 
friends of her own sex, not men of your age. Don't go round 
championing her as you have been doing to-day." 

“ If she wants friends of her own sex, Lady Yal," said 
Charlie, ingenuously, “ won't you be one of them?" 

He could not imagine why Lady Yal looked sad and grave 
for a moment. But then she smiled so kindly that he felt as 
if he had won a triumph. 

“ To please you, 1 will, Charlie," she said; “ on condition, 
at least, that you don't behave foolishly. Mrs. Hannington 
is very pretty and charming, and you may be very sorry for 
her position; but, believe me, you will do nobody any good by 
showing strong feeling about it." 

Charlie fidgeted and looked straight before him as she 
spoke. After a little pause he said, manfully : 

“ 1 hope you don't think that 1 would do anything that a 
gentleman might not do, Lady Yal?" 

“No, 1 don't," said Lady Yal, with her brightest smile, 
“ but I was afraid that you might be a little imprudent. If 
you are very good, I will tell you what I will do. I will call 
on Mrs. Hannington ^to-morrow, and I will try to make friends 
with her. She shall come here, and I will do my best to pre- 
vent her from feeling lonely any more. Will that satisfy you?" 

“ You are most kind," the. young man declared, warmly. 
“ I thought that I could count upon your sympathy, Lady 
Yalencia. And I will be careful — but you must not misunder- 
stand my friendly feeling for Mrs. Hannington: our fathers, 
you know, have been close friends for years. " 

“ All right, Charlie, I understand. And now I must send 
you off, for we are to dine early to-night, and I have to go 
and dress. I will look after Mrs. Hannington, never fear." 

But although she dismissed him so summarily. Lady Yal did 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


213 


not go to her dressing-room for more than half an hour after 
his departure. She lay back in her chair, looking dreamily 
before her: now and then a great sigh seemed to come from 
the very bottom of her heart. She looked as few people had 
ever seen her look — utterly weary, utterly depressed. 

“ How foolish I am!” she said to herself at last, as she 
roused herself and rose from her chair. 4 4 There is no use in 
crying over spilled milk, as the homely proverb says. 1 
ought to be only too thankful that I have a chance of helping 
that poor child — perhaps of helping her husband too. Now, 
if things had been 4 ordered * differently, as some of my friends 
would express it, we should all have been shuffled like a pack 
of cards. Charlie Rutherford is the beau ideal of a husband 
for little Molly — brave, simple, honest, handsome, rich; and 
poor, battered, disreputable Jack would have suited me ad- 
mirably, for I could have managed him, poor boy, which Molly 
will never be able to do.- Heigho! 4 how easily things go 
wrong !* And when they do — well, nothing can set them 
straight. 

“ * Then follows a mist and a driving rain, 

And life is never the same again.’ ” 

To think that I should fall to quoting poetry!” And with 
a shrug of her graceful shoulders, a smile and a sigh. Lady 
Val went upstairs to dress. 

The part of grande dame was one for which she was admir- 
ably fitted. Her new wealth did not spoil her: it was noticed 
that a touch of softness had been added to her charm of man- 
ner, and a faint suggestion of sadness that sometimes crept 
into her eyes made her brilliant beauty altogether gentler and 
more lovable. She rented a pretty little house near the park, 
and seemed resolved to take advantage of all the privileges 
which her position, her striking personality, and her wealth, 
were likely to afford her. For Molly Hannington, unknown, 
unloved, and perilously pretty, there would be no greater 
stroke of worldly good fortune than to be 44 taken up ” and 
introduced to society by Lady Valencia Gilderoy. For al- 
though Lady Val was still unmarried, and had for some time 
been known in connection with a rather fast set of men and 
women, her undoubted brilliance and the position of her fam- 
ily, as well as her vein of dauntless cynical good sense, had 
always sufficed to give her a considerable standing in the Lon- 
don world; and now that she was the mistress of incalculable 
wealth, it was highly probable that she would in good time be- 
come one of the 44 leaders 99 of society. 

All this John Hannington knew and gnashed his teeth over. 


214 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

Not only from love of Valencia Gilderoy as a woman, but out 
of envy and malice, and all uncharitableness. What were 
Molly’s trumpery hundreds in comparison with Lady Val’s 
thousands? What were Molly’s girlish freshness and innocent 
beauty when set against Lady Val’s modish brilliance and 
savoir faire? He could have hated his wife sometimes for the 
mistake which she had caused him to make. 

He came home one afternoon and found her radiant, yet 
tremulous. 

44 Oh, Jack,” she said, flying to him with shining wet eyes 
and lovely color in her face, 44 ivho do you think has been to 
see me? Jt was like a bit of my old home! I cried when I 
saw her, I was so glad! Guess who it was!” 

44 Mrs. MoncrieS?” asked Jack, moodily. 

44 Oh, no, no! she is not in London, is she? No, somebody 
whom you used to know very well. She told me that she was 
an old friend of yours.” 

“Not—” 

But the name died on Hannington’s lips. The habitual 
frown upon his forehead suddenly deepened; a strange light 
came into his eyes. Molly was not wise enough to read these 
ominous signs. 

“ You have guessed, I am sure,” she said, laughing with 
all her old gayety of heart. 4 ‘ Lady Valencia Gilderoy! What 
do you think of that. Jack? And she has come into a lot of 
money, more than she knows what to do with, she says, and 
she has a house in Park Lane, and — ” 

44 And came here to gloat over our poverty and enlarge on 
her own magnificence, 1 suppose!” said Hannington, savage- 
ly. The veins on his forehead were swollen until they stood 
out like cords. 

44 Oh, no. Jack! How could she be so mean?” said Molly, 
a little intimidated by his manner, but not in the least under- 
standing it. 44 She came out of kindness. Jack, because she 
thought that I should be lonely sometimes, as I know so few 
people in London. She wants me to go for a drive with her 
to-morrow, and she says that I must go to lunch on the next 
day, and then she can introduce me to some of her friends — ” 

44 You will do nothing of the sort,” said Hannington, stern- 
ly. 44 You will see as little of Lady Valencia Gilderoy as you 
can. I do not wish you to make a friend of her. ” 

Even Lady Val herself would hardly have known him if she 
had seen him looking as he did now, with that red flush upon 
his face, that black frown distorting his features, that malig- 
nant light in his dark eyes. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


215 


“ But — why — why not?” said Molly, shrinking back. 

44 Because I choose/ ' 

44 1 thought you were friends. Jack?” 

44 Friends! What is that to you? What do you know about 
friendship? You will not cross Lady Valencia Gilderoy 's 
threshold, do you hear? 1 will not have it. ” 

44 But I promised,” said Molly, the tears rapidly gathering 
in her lovely, grieving eyes. 44 1 said that 1 would— and, in- 
deed, Jack, it would be such a pleasure to me — 1 get out so 
little and I see so few people!” 

Hannington uttered an oath which made her start; she had 
never heard him swear before. 44 Do you mean to obey me or 
do you not?” he asked with unwonted fierceness. 

44 Not any the more because you swear at me!” cried Molly, 
firing up. Her eyes flashed at him indignantly. 

44 You wiJl do what I tell you whether you like it or not, 
madame. I'll have no insubordination of that kind. You 
will not go to Lady VaFs house unless I give you leave.” 

44 She was my father's friend before I ever saw you,” Molly 
burst out, her temper as usual getting the better of her pru- 
dence, 44 and I do not see why I should give her up.” 

She thought at first that he was going to strike her. The 
gesture of his clinched fists was certainly threatening. But 
after a moment's pause he lowered his hand; the suffused red 
of his countenance gradually gave way to a livid pallor, and 
when he spoke, his voice, though thick, was perfectly calm 
in tone. 

44 You don't see? Then I'll give you a reason. You will 
not have more fco do with Lady Val than you can help, be- 
cause you will find it wiser to keep her at a distance. I told 
you once that there was only one woman that I had really 
loved. It was not yourself, as you were vain enough to think. 
It was Valencia Gilderoy; and if she had come into that ac- 
cursed money of hers a week earlier, I would have married her 
and thrown you over at a moment's notice. I wish I had — 
and risked the loss of money. For I suppose I am tied to you 
for life, and I love her still. That is the reason why I warn 
you not to see too much of Lady Valencia Gilderoy.” 

He turned and walked out of the room, while Molly sunk 
down on the sofa a crushed heap of helpless misery. And 
this was what her runaway marriage had come to — not four 
months after her wedding-day! 


216 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

DISENCHANTMENT. 

Lady Valencia waited and wondered in vain next day, 
when at the hour fixed for the drive Mrs. Hannington did not 
appear. Later in the afternoon a little note from Molly 
reached her, couched in very cold and ambiguous terms. The 
writer was unable to drive out that afternoon, she said; and 
she neither gave a reason nor expressed any sorrow for her de- 
fection. This was rather a rude way of treating the proposal, 
and Lady Val flushed with vexation as she read the note. 

“ What does the child mean?” she said to herself. “ She 
seems to have forgotten her manners — she never was distin- 
guished for them, after all.” Then came a sharp, stinging 
thought. “ Can she have found out? Can he have told her 
that I — that I offered myself to him on his very wedding-day? 
Surely ho would not do that. Bad as he is,” said Lady Val, 
bitterly, “ he would not forget so utterly that he loved me 
once. ” 

But in spite of these doubts and fears, she turned a bright 
and smiling face on Captain Rutherford when she met him at 
a dance that evening and read the question in his eyes that he 
did not like to put into words. 

“ 1 have called,” she said, with a little nod. “ I am doing 
my duty, you see. ” 

“ You are the very kindest person in the world. Lady Va- 
lencia.” 

“I’m afraid it won’t be of any use, Charlie. She does not 
like me. ” 

“ Oh — impossible!” 

“ Quite possible, on the contrary. There are numerous 
people who don't like me,” said she, with a light laugh. 
“ Never mind: I will do what I can for her; and even if she 
does not come to me IT1 get some other people to call on her, 
.and she can go to their houses. 

“ But why shouldn’t she like to come to you?” said Char- 
lie^ in a puzzled tone. 

< “Ah, why, indeed! She associates me a little too much 
with her old home-life, perhaps,” said Lady Val, coolly; “ she 
used to see me at Torresmuir, and she may think that I sym- 
pathize too much with her dear little step-mother, who is the 
sweetest and gentlest young thing whom I have seen for a long 
time. ” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 217 

“ Indeed! I had an idea that the step-mother had been un- 
kind to her or something — ” 

“ 1 don’t think Molly told you that/’ said Lady Val, with 
a flash of honest indignation. 

“ Oh! no, no; she said nothing about her. Some one said 
so at the club, I believe: I suppose it was a mistake . 99 

“ Quite a' mistake. Mrs. Moncrieff is a charming little 
woman, with the kindest heart in the world; but she was not 
experienced enough to keep a tight hand on her step-children. 

It has been a great trouble to her. But Bertie adores her,” 
said Lady Valencia, catching herself up with a sense that it 
was not becoming to talk of the Moncrieffs’ affairs to their 
friend’s son, “ and I am glad of that, for he is really a nice 
boy, although a little weak in character.” 

“ Is he in London?” 

“ He has either come or is coming shortly. You might look 
him up, Charlie; it would be a kindness.” 

“ I shall be delighted.” 

“ I will get his address for you. Keep him out of mischief, 
if you can.” 

Captain Rutherford was only too pleased to undertake the 
commission. As soon as Bertie was settled in London, there- 
fore, he found a very congenial and a very desirable friend 
teady to hand; and Mr. Moncrieff was grateful to young 
Kutherford for thus making himself known. It had been one 
of Alan Moncrieff’s initial mistakes in the training of his chil- 
dren to keep them secluded from acquaintances; the conse- 
quence was that, debarred from suitable friendships, they had 
made unsuitable ones for themselves, and the lives of both had 
been darkened and saddened through evil influences. Bertie 
was sincerely anxious to amend his ways and regain the confi- 
dence of his father; and it soon became a pleasure to him to 
spend as much of his time as possible with a man like Charles 
Kutherford, whose frank and honorable spirit was a perpetual 
spur and stimulus to his own. 

Rutherford’s regiment was quartered at Aldershot, but he^ 
found it easy to get frequent leave, and was as much in Lon- 
don as possible. He kept his word to Lady Valencia, however, 
and was careful not to go too often to the Hanningtons’. He 
had found it necessary, for his own conscience’ sake, “ to pull 
up,” as he said to himself, “ in time.” For it was becoming 
a pain and an irritation to him to see Molly’s pale and un- 
happy looks. He still maintained that he was interested in 
her solely because of his father’s liking for Alan Moncrieff; 
but it was rather difficult to continue to look on matters en- 


218 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


tirely from this point of view. To remember that his father 
and Moncrieff of Torresmuir had been school-fellows together 
would not account for the fact that he could not forget Molly's 
wistful eyes, that her wan face haunted him night and day, 
and that he was possessed with such a desire to do her service 
that he would willingly have gone to the ends of the earth for 
her if she had so desired. 

But it must also be said that Charlie Rutherford's admira- 
tion for Molly was of the purest and most reverential kind. 
If he had never seen her distressed or lonely, he might never 
have thought twice of her, save as an ordinary acquaintance: 
it was just because he had seen tears in her eyes, and suspect- 
ed that her husband neglected her, that his chivalrous nature 
was so stirred. He vowed to be her friend, her brother, to the 
last day of his life; and he told himself that it was well for her 
that she should have one trusty 4 4 servant," to use the parlance 
of an older world, one who would be always faithful and help- 
ful, and ready to maintain her cause against all comers. Hav- 
ing made up his mind in this way, he did not keep entirely 
from the Hanningtons', as Lady Valencia would have advised 
him to do, but went there discreetly, dining with John Han- 
nington, and even playing cards with him when asked, but 
never for one moment altering the gentle respect of his man- 
ner toward the woman who — although he hardly knew it — 
now occupied the first position in his heart and mind. 

The summer came to a close, and people began to leave 
town for their holiday rambles. Rutherford was due at his 
father's house before the end of July, and he was going to 
travel north with Bertie Moncrieff. Lady Valencia Gilderoy 
was bound for Norway with a select party of friends. Charlie 
came to see the Hanningtons before his departure. He won- 
dered what they were going to do: he had not heard their 
plans, and Bertie had been unable to give him any informa- 
tion. Bertie was not very fond of going to his brother-in-law's 
apartments. He had developed as strong a dislike to John 
Hannington as his father and his friend had done. 

Captain Rutherford found both husband and wife at home. 
Molly was looking exceedingly white, he thought, but she pro- 
fessed herself quite well — only a little tired by the heat. Han- 
hington seemed to listen to the visitor's remarks with sup- 
pressed impatience, and answered almost rudely when Charlie 
once turned toward him. The flush of shame or alarm which 
instantly suffused Molly's pale face made the young man in- 
dignant for her sake, and yet all the more anxious to keep the 
peace. He asked her where she was going for the autumn. 


THE LUCK OP THE HOUSE. 


219 


4 4 1 don ’t know yet, ” she answered, timidly glancing at her 
husband. 44 We have not decided.” 

44 It will probably end in our going nowhere at all/* said 
Hannington, irritably. 44 And I hope you will like it if we 
do.” The last words were addressed to Molly, who again 
flushed vividly and painfully. 

Charlie began to wish that he had not come. He could not 
run away just yet, however, for Molly had given him a cup of 
tea, and he could not put it down untasted. John Hanning- 
ton also seemed to feel some embarrassment at the turn the 
conversation had taken, for he pulled out his watch, declaring 
that he had an important engagement to keep, and that he 
was sorry to say he really must be off. And then he quitted 
the room, but, as Charlie noticed, without a word of farewell 
or apology to his wife. 

It struck Captain Rutherford that these two grew colder 
to each other in manner every time he saw them; and such 
was indeed nearly the case. For after that revelation made 
by Hannington of the real state of his affections — a revelation 
which she could never feel to be anything but unspeakably 
brutal and degrading to herself — Molly’s girlish love for her 
husband had died a painful death. The veil of romance was 
torn from her eyes, and she saw him for what he was — or 
rather, she saw the very worst side of him, and nothing else. 
She was not strong enough by nature to dominate and make a 
fairly good man of him, as Lady Yal had declared to herself 
that she could have done. She was helpless; she trembled be- 
fore him with the nervous timidity which harshness or injus- 
tice had always excited in her. She saw that he was selfish, 
sensual, and hard; and she was too much shocked by her dis- 
covery to look for the few scattered grains' of gold which 
existed in the baser metal of his character. It seemed to her 
that her whole life was ruined : she had shattered all possible 
happiness for herself, and she looked for nothing more. 

44 You are not really thinking of spending the autumn in 
London, are you?” Charlie asked, in a tone of dismay, when 
Hannington had left the room. 

44 1 don’t know,” said Molly, faintly. 44 1 expected ” — she 
looked aside, and her voice trembled — 44 that we should go — 
home. But they — I suppose they have other plans.” 

Charlie remembered .Bertie had told him that the Moncrieffs 
were going abroad for the months of August and September. 
His heart swelled with indignation and pity. They were going 
abroad to enjoy themselves, while she was left in the stifling 


220 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


heat of London, without the prospect of a change of any sort. 
Had they then no heart? 

“ 1 hope/’ Molly went on, “ that my husband will go to 
Scotland by and by. I’m afraid it is my fault that we have 
managed so badly. 1 misunderstood: I thought that we were 
sure to go to Torresmuir — but the place is to be shut up, I 
hear, and so our plans have failed. It was stupid of me ” — 
with a weak little smile — 44 to make the mistake. And John 
is — rather — vexed . 3 . 3 

44 They would not have gone abroad if they had understood 
that you thought of going to them, of course,” said Charlie, 
rather hotly. 4 4 Bertie was regretting only the other day that 
you could not join them at Torresmuir.” 

Molly kept silent, and Butherford suddenly felt, without 
being told, that Mr. Moncrieff must have failed, or even per- 
haps refused, to ask his son-in-law to Torresmuir. He felt 
an unreasoning anger against Molly’s father for not helping 
her out of her present difficulty; though there was this to be 
said, that probably Alan Moncrieff did not know of it. 

44 1 wish 1 could be of any help to you,” said Charlie, rising 
to take his leave, and scarcely knowing how to express his 
vague good-will. 44 Can I take any messages — or — or parcels 
— or anything to Scotland?” 

44 No, thank you. Bertie will take mine.” She looked up 
at him smiling, and then her eyes suddenly filled with tears. 
44 Oh, Scotland, dear Scotland!” she murmured. 44 Oh, if 
only 1 were going back! If only 1 could see it again!” And 
then she covered her face with her hands, and burst into low, 
tremulous sobs that rent the listener’s heart. 

Charlie could not bear it. There were two things he could 
do — he could fling himself at her feet and beg her not to cry, 
or he could take up his hat and walk out of the room — like a 
brute, as he told himself afterward indignantly. But the 
former alternative would have been worse. He could never 
have come into Molly’s presence again if he had so far forgot- 
ten her dignity and his own manhood. He walked straight 
out of the room and into the street, where for a minute he 
stood feeling absolutely sick with pain of heart, but knowing 
in a dazed sort of way that he had won a victory. It was not 
his part to comfort Mrs. Ilannington in her troubles. 

But he sought out Bertie, and after some circumlocution, 
impressed his views upon his mind as far as he could do so 
without betraying how deeply he was concerned. Bertie 
heard and understood. And when, a few days later, he went 
down to Torresmuir, he summoned up courage enough to go 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


221 


to his. father and ask point-blank whether he knew that Molly 
was pining for fresh air, and that Hannington had said that 
they were going to stay in London all the autumn. 

“1 did not know anything about it,” said Mr. Moncrieff, 
looking startled and pained. 44 She did write, hinting that 
she would like to come to us, but I thought that he would not 
care to bring her here so soon. Why are they not going away? 
They can not be in want df funds, surely. Molly has her own 
money.” 

Bertie noticed that the name, so long unspoken, fell natu- 
rally from his lips, as though it had been much in his thoughts. 

“ 1 expect that they do want money. Hannington lives in 
an extravagant way — he spends freely.” 

“ Ah! He gambles, perhaps?” 

44 I believe he does.” 

44 He has not induced you to join him, has he, Bertie?” 
The father's voice trembled a little as he spoke; then he add- 
ed, hastily: 44 Don't think I mean to suspect you. 1 know I 
have a tendency to be suspicious, but I do believe, at the bot- 
tom of my heart, that I may trust you, my boy — ” 

44 That is more than I have any right to expect,” said Ber- 
tie, humbly, yet manfully too. 4 4 1 give you my word, if you 
will take it, sir, that I have not played for money since I went 
to London, and that I never will. I know I can't stand it: 
the excitement gets into my veins like fire. I have taken a 
pledge of abstinence from any sort of gambling. ” 

44 1 am only too glad to hear it,” said Moncrieff. He 
stretched out his hand, which Bertie took eagerly and warmly. 
44 There has been mischief wrought in our family by the gam- 
bling instinct already, and 1 should be sorry to think that it 
was inherited by you. Now about your sister. It is no use, 
I suppose, to p tit Torresmuir at their service for a couple of 
months? Shall I send her a check, and tell her to go where 
she likes?” 

44 That would be a splendid plan.” 

Mr. Moncrieff wasted no more time. He sat down and 
quietly wrote a check, which he then handed to his son, who 
was gratified and astounded at its amount. 4 4 Father, you are 
very good to us,” he said, raising his eyes to Alan's face with 
a look which his father found very satisfactory. 

44 Do you think it will be enough?” said Moncrieff. 44 Write 
to her yourself and send it.” 

44 Are you not going to write?” 

44 Well— no.” 

44 You have written to her, father, have you not?” Bertie 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


222 

realized, with an odd thrill, as he asked the question, that his 
old fear of his father had gone forever. A year ago he could 
not have spoken as freely and as frankly as he did now. 

44 I have written once — a short letter. But I would rather 
not, Bertie. You can give her my love. Tell her to make 
what use of the money she chooses.” 

Bertie did not venture to remonstrate : the way in which his 
father answered showed him one ijhing, that although Molly 
had been formally pardoned and very generously treated, she 
was not yet truly and tenderly forgiven. 

He could not resist seeking his step-mother in order to make 
ii'er a partaker in his gladness at the unexpected success with 
which he had met. He found her in the drawing-room — 
alone, as usual, with a book in her hand — and he poured his 
story eagerly into her ear. 

44 My father is awfully good to us,” he wound up, in boyish 
fashion. 44 And we’ve behaved abominably to him. Isn’t he 
good, Stella?” He always called her Stella now: she was too 
dear to him to be called Mrs. Moncrieff; too young for the 
title of 4 4 mother.” 

44 Yes, he is very good,” said Stella, dreamily. And then 
she sighed. 

44 He has not quite forgiven Molly, though. He will — some 
day, will he not?” 

44 Surely,” she answered. 

44 Can’t you persuade him, Stella?” 

44 No, dear, no.” 

“ But you want him to forgive her?” 

“ Ah, yes, indeed.” 

44 If he won’t do it for you, he won’t do it for anybody in 
the world,” said Bertie, quickly. 

Her fair face flushed: she looked at him with a question in 
her eye. 44 Of course,” the lad went on, quite unconscious of 
the effect that he was producing, 44 he thinks more of you and 
your opinion than of any other in the world.” 

44 Oh, hush, Bertie, hush!” 

44 You don’t think I mind, do you?” said the lad, with an 
amused face. 44 I’m only too glad that he has somebody to 
care for.” 

44 1 did not know — 1 did not think — ” 

44 That he showed it so much?” — happily misunderstanding 
her. 44 But he makes it plain to the whole household. He 
never takes his eyes off you when you are in the room.” 

44 You silly boy!” said Stella, turning away. 44 He does 
nothing of the kind. ” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 223 

But in spite of herself she felt a curious warmth and stir of 
pleasure at her heart. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE EHD OF IT. 

Mr. ahd Mrs. Hankihgtoh found the check sent by Alan 
Moncrieff very acceptable indeed. Most of it went for John 
Hannington's delectation, it was true; but Molly got some sea- 
breezes, and was glad that her husband was in better temper 
than he had been for some time. They came back to town 
late in September, and removed into a small furnished house 
which they took for a few months. Bertie returned to Lon- 
don in October, and of course he went to see his sister; but no 
confidences passed between them. He thought that Molly 
looked very far from strong, but he took her word for it when 
she said that she was well. She would not talk about herself 
at all, and questioned him eagerly respecting Torresmuir and 
his own doings. And Bertie was in an unusually bright mood: 
he had had a pleasant holiday, and was much gratified by a 
proof of trust which his father had given him. The clergy- 
man at whose house he had been quartered had fallen ill, and 
was unable to receive him. Bertie had therefore gone into 
lodgings, and went, as he informed Molly, 44 to a crammer's " 
every day, 44 as other fellows did." • It was quite plain that 
he considered it a delightful novelty to be allowed this form of 
independence, and possibly his father had spen that it would 
do him good. 

Molly listened to his story, smiled at* his harmless vanity, 
and promised, almost with her old gayety, to take tea with 
him some afternoon at his lodgings. She made a careful note 
of the address; but as the weeks wore on Bertie found that 
she made no exertion to come and see him : she looked white 
and more worn than ever, and once even burst into tears as 
he kissed her, and begged him not to visit her again. John 
did not like it. 

44 He is a perfect brute," said Bertie, recounting this inci- 
dent to Captain Rutherford one evening — without any thought 
of breach of confidence, for by this time he was in the habit 
of pouring out all his thoughts quite freely to his friend. 4 4 1 
wish we had never seen him . 99 

Rutherford did not speak, but he mentally re-echoed the 
wish. 

“ It's impossible for her to be very happy with him," Bertie 
went on, vehemently. 44 Why, he is away from her more than 


224 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE, 


half of his time. I don’t think London suits her, either. 1 
wish we could get her back to Torresmuir and pension him 
off somehow.” 

Charlie smiled at this boyish simplicity. “ She might not 
approve/’ he said, briefly. 

“ I should think that she would be very glad. How the 
wind blows to-night. Is it raining, or freezing, or anything?” 

“ Raining, I think. It is warmer than usual for the end of 
November. ” 

He started a little as he spoke, for at that moment a loud 
knock was heard at the front door. 

“ Christmas will be here directly,” said Bertie, with the air 
of one who makes a wise remark. “Now, if 1 can get my 
father to ask Molly to spend Christmas with us — ” 

“ What’s that?” said Rutherford, suddenly. There was a 
startled look in his eyes. Bertie listened. Voices were heard 
in the passage, and steps, and opening doors. Something 
unexpected had evidently happened in the house. 

Bertie’s landlady now presented herself with a puzzled face. 

“ There’s a lady wanting to see you, sir,” she said, doubt- 
fully, and, before she could explain, a wild-looking, wet, be- 
draggled figure had stumbled rather than walked into the 
room. Both young men sprung to their feet with an exclama- 
tion of dismay. For it was Molly who stood before them, and 
who, after a moment’s pause, threw herself into Bertie’s arms 
and burst out sobbing upon his shoulder. 

“I’ve come to you: I had nowhere else to go,” she panted. 
“ He’s turned me out — turned me out into the street!” 

“ Molly! not your liusband?” 

“Yes, my husband,” she said, with passionate emphasis, 
lifting her head and showing her flushed, wet fate; “ the hus- 
band for whom I deceived my father and left my home! Oh, 
they can’t say that I have not been punished now!” 

She had no hat or bonnet on her head, and her hair was 
darkened and straightened by the rain-drops that had fallen 
upon it. A great-cloak had been wrapped around her; but, 
dropping loosely from her shoulders, it showed that she was in 
evening-dress — a soft primrose-colored silk which left her 
white neck and arms bare save for some softly clustering laces 
and pearl ornaments. 

“ But you have not come like this! You have not walked!” 
cried Bertie. 

“Yes; I had no money.” 

“ But I could have paid a cabman at the door! To think 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


225 


of you walking through the streets at this time of night like 
this — ” 

“ Oh, it's nothing: I did ndt mind that,” said Molly, 
wearily. She disengaged her arms from her brother's neck 
and sunk into the nearest chair. Then, for the first time, she 
became aware of Captain Rutherford's presence. But nothing 
seemed to startle her. She looked up at him with a passion- 
ately pleading expression which struck him dumb. 44 1 can't 
help it!” she broke out. 44 You need not condemn me a sec- 
ond time! It is not my fault.” 

44 Molly, Molly, hush! Why should Charlie Rutherford 
condemn you?” said Bertie, in his bewilderment. 44 He is 
only sorry for you — as I am — as we all — ” 

44 Are you sorry for me?” said the girl. 44 Oh, that is per- 
haps the worst of it! That you should all have to be sorry for 
me — and 1 was once so proud and so light-hearted and so sure 
of my own good fortune. And what am 1 to do now?” 

44 Is there nothing that we can do for you?” said Ruther- 
ford, in a choked voice. 44 If you could only make me useful 
— if you could send me anywhere or tell me to do anything 
for you — " 

44 There's that fellow to be punished!” Bertie burst out in 
a fury. 44 I’ll go myself — I'll telegraph to father — he de- 
serves a thorough horsewhipping. ” 

Charlie Rutherford wished that the boy had held his tongue. 
He agreed with the sentiment, but thought it would have been 
better to leave it unexpressed until punishment had been in- 
flicted. He was afraid of the effect on Molly's mind. John 
Hannington would have had a very poor chance indeed if he 
had been just then at the mercy of these two indignant, hot- 
headed, hot-blooded young men. And the knowledge of this 
was suddenly revealed to Molly, in her newly purchased wis- 
dom of womanhood : the knowledge of the harm and the scan- 
dal and the disgrace which were impending, and which she, 
and she only, could avert. 

She • looked from one to the other, and then, moved by a 
sudden impulse, she gave her hand first to her brother for a 
moment, and then to Rutherford. 

44 You are both kind— both my friends,” she said; 44 and I 
shall trust you both. ’But there is nothing for you to do. 
Neither of you must lay a finger on my husband. If you do, I 
will never speak to you again.” 

Charlie flushed up: Bertie gave a Quick, sharp exclamation 
of disgust. • 

8 


226 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ That's a woman's view: a girl's view," he said. “We can 
not — I can not promise to sit down and do nothing." 

“You are only a boy," said Molly, with a little gasp which 
was perhaps meant for a sort of laugh; “ and /you can not do 
anything yourself. And it is not Captain Rutherford's busi- 
ness. I shall leave everything to my father. 1 shall tell him 
all. He will know what must be done. " 

“ Shall I telegraph to him for you?" said Charlie, quickly. 

“Thank you. Yes — directly. Wait a moment. You 
must not think things worse than they are. I provoked him 
— and he had taken too much wine." She began to tremble 
as she spoke. “ 1 reproached him with — with one or two 
things that he had told me, and he grew very angry; and then 
I told him of one wicked, foolish mischievous thing that I had 
done — I took some letters of his once, and sent them away to 
a person who — Oh, I can't tell it you all, but I acted very 
badly, and in my own anger 1 told him of it for the first time. 
You see he had some right to be angry. He did not know 
what he was doing — I am sure he did not, for he had never 
struck me before — " 

“Struck you? Molly, Molly!" 

As if involuntarily, she glanced at her arm, from which the 
cloak had slipped down. There was a bruise upon the slender 
wrist. She drew her draperies over it, and held them there 
while she went on. 

“ He did not know, he was never unkind in that way be- 
fore. But he was mad with anger and with what he had 
drunk, and he took me by the shoulders and put me out at 
the door, and said that I should never darken his house again. 
I snatched up this cloak as I went through the outer hall. I 
believe he meant to take me in again, for when I had gone 
down the road a little way, 1 heard him open the door again 
and call me. But I was frightened — so frightened that I ran 
on and on; and I asked my way of a policeman, and at last I 
got here." 

Charlie Rutherford's face was white with rage. 

“ Look," he said to Bertie, abruptly, “lam going. Your 
sister should not sit in her wet things. Get your landlady to 
attend to her. I'll telegraph to your father in your name." 

“ Wait, please," said Molly. It was strange to hear the de- 
cision that had come into her fresh young voice. “ Come 
here for one minute. Captain Rutherford. You say you will 
be my friend?" 

“Always." « 

“ Then please go to the telegraph office, and send a mes- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


22 7 


sage from me, not from Bertie. * 1 have no home now; may 
I come to you to-morrow ?’ That is all that 1 want to say in 
a telegram. I do not think that my father will refuse to take 
me in. ” 

“No. No, indeed . 99 

“ And then. Captain Rutherford, you will go straight home, 
will you not? And you will see me off with Bertie to-morrow 
morning? I shall start at ten o’clock, whether I hear from 
my father’ or not. And you will do nothing else?” 

He was obliged to promise that he would do nothing else. 
He saw that she was afraid lest he might try to precipitate 
matters — see John Hannington, perhaps, and be unable to 
control his indignation. And her look of relief and gratitude 
was the more pronounced because she had suffered a moment’s 
fear when she saw his stein, set face. 

It was not very late, and he was able to telegraph at once. 
He knew that the message would not reach Torresmuir until 
the morning, as the house was some distance from the tele- 
graph office; nevertheless, he felt a sense of having accom- 
plished something when it was dispatched. And then he won- 
dered restlessly whether Bertie was looking well after his sister 
— whether the landlady would give her dry clothes and warm 
drinks and a comfortable room — and he wished with all his 
heart that his mother had been in London then, so that he 
♦might send her to Molly’s aid. For Lady Rutherford was a 
kind-hearted woman, and would have come at a moment’s 
notice to the daughter of her old friend Alan Moncrieff. 

There was Lady Yal! Would not she be of use? She was 
always kind-hearted — but Mrs. Hannington did not like her, 
and, as Charlie knew, the two had now not met for some 
months. It certainly might be a good thing to let Lady Va- 
lencia know the truth of the story. She could be trusted ab- 
solutely to speak or to hold her tongue in the right place. 
But how could he find her at ten or eleven o’clock at night? 
She would probably be out. At any rate, he might try. 
And so, after some hesitation, Charlie jumped into a hansom, 
and gave the man Lady Valencia’s address. 

Wonder of wonders! she was not out. She had had one or 
two visitors, but they were departing when Charlie’s card was 
brought to her. Under his name he had written in pencil a 
brief "request that he might see her alone for two minutes “ on 
important business. ” Lady Val laughed a little over the card, 
and called him a dear, impulsive boy in her own heart. And 
then she went down to the little library into which she was told 
that he had been shown. She found him pacing up and down 


228 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


the room like a wild beast in a cage, and a glance at his face 
told her that there was something seriously wrong indeed. 

She had not long to wait. He poured his story into her ear 
without a momenta delay. And he could not accuse her of 
want of sympathy. He had never seen her face change as it 
changed when she heard what John Hannington had done. 
The color went out of it completely; she sat looking at him 
helplessly, with ashen lips, like some ghost of her brilliant self. 

“ And you have telegraphed to the Montcrieffs?” she said, 
slowly. 

“ I have. She says that she will start in the morning.” 

“ Is she strong enough to do that?” 

“ I don’t see what else she can do. She can not stay with 
Bertie. She can not go back to her husband. ” 

“Ho, indeed!” And the color rushed back to Valencia’s 
face in a full, warm tide. “ She had better stay at Torres- 
muir, poor child. Well, Charlie? Why did you come to 
me?” 

“ I thought you might help her. Lady Valencia,” said the 
young man, meekly. “ I suppose she has no gowns or things. 
I don’t know. It seemed better that some other woman 
should know all about it.” 

“ You are a sensible boy, Charlie.” Lady Val’s voice had 
grown natural again, but her eyes were unusually bright. “ 1 
shall go round to her at eight o’clock to-morrow morning and 
see what I can do. It is no use going to-night.” 

“ I did right in coming to you, then? It was the only thing 
I could think of. ” 

“ Perfectly right. 1 am always ready to help the Hanning- 
tons when I can.” 

“ Mrs. Hannington,” said Charlie, significantly. 

Lady Val looked at him keenly. “'And Mr. Hannington 
too. Don’t you see that the poor, miserable man wants help 
even more than Molly ’does? There, you don’t understand. 
Never mind, Charlie, I will do my best for her. Good-night. ” 

The dismissal was a trifle abrupt, but Charlie did not care. 
He had got all he wanted, and he was ready to go. He knew 
that Lady Val was a woman of her word, and that she would 
be as a tower of strength to the grieving, heart-broken, child- 
ish Molly. 

What he did not know — what he never imagined — was the 
silent anguish in which Valencia Gilderoy spent the hours of 
the night. There could be no greater pain for her than to 
witness the gradual declension of the man who had been first 
her playmate, then her friend, and then her lover. She could 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


229 


bear to be parted from him; she could bear to think that he 
loved another; she felt as if she could not bear to know that 
he was so unworthy of any good woman's love. 

But no traces of her vigil were visible on the bright face 
that presented itself next morning in Molly's bed-chamber. 

“ My dear," she said, putting her arms round Molly's neck 
at once, 44 1 know you don't much like me; but you must put 
up with me and let me help you if I can. Charlie Rutherford 
came to me last night. " 

Molly resisted for a moment, but womanly affection was 
very sweet to her, and there was something in Lady Yal's face 
and manner which compelled confidence. She let herself be 
kissed, and then burst into tears on her visitor's shoulder. 

44 Don't cry, child," said Lady Val, at last. “ You had 
much better go home and take care of yourself. Or — will you 
come to me for a few days?" 

“No, no. You are very good — but 1 want so much to go 
home!" 

“ Very well. Then I will go with you." 

“ You?" said Molly, lifting a quivering face and startled 
eyes to her interlocutor. 44 You? Why?" 

44 Because I don't think you are old enough or wise enough 
to travel alone, my dear; and I don’t call even Bertie a suffi- 
cient protector. Nobody can say a word against you if I am 
with you, Molly. " 

The eyes of the two women met. There was a little 
silence, and then Molly held out her hand. “ I was unjust to 
you in my thoughts; forgive me," she said. 

“ What did you think of me, then?" 

44 Oh, I can't tell you — I can't!" 

44 1 can guess, my dear. You thought that I wanted to 
take your husband's heart from you. Is that not so? You 
were mistaken, Molly; I have prayed every night and morning 
for the last year that he might always love you as you loved 
him. I had no stronger wish than that you two might be 
happy. Won't you trust me, Molly?" 

And Molly, looking into Lady Valencia's honest eyes, said 
fervently: 

44 Indeed I will." 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

LADY VAL TO THE RESCUE] 

The telegram which reached Bertie's lodgings just before 
the travelers left the house was from Stella Moncrieff, 


230 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


“ Come at once/* it said. 4 4 Your father is away, but I am 
sure that he will welcome you.” 

44 Oh, I wish that he had been at home,” sighed Molly. 
44 1 wish that there had been a message from himself.” 

She was very white and nervous, and had to be reassured by 
Bertie and Lady Valencia as to her father’s kind intentions 
toward her before she could proceed. Lady Val had sent for 
a medical man in order to convince herself that Molly was able 
to take so long a journey; but when she described the mode 
in which the journey would be made, the doctor smiled and 
said that it could not possibly hurt her in the least. Lady 
Val was accustomed to travel in a luxurious way, and she did 
not mean that Molly should suffer from overfatigue or over- 
exertion. And unlimited means can make a good deal of 
difference to the effect of a journey upon a delicate woman. 

So Molly traveled north in state, like a young princess, but 
she took small note of her surroundings, and lay back on her 
cushions with face averted, doing little but weep silently all 
the day. Lady Val insisted on staying the night in Edin- 
burgh and telegraphing again to Stella as to the hour of their 
arrival on the following afternoon, and it was perhaps well 
that she did so. For Molly was very tired at the end of the 
day, and Lady Valencia felt that she had taken rather a heavy 
responsibility upon her shoulders. 

It was not until four or five o’clock on the following day, 
therefore, that the little party made its appearance at the 
doors of Torresmuir. A sad little party, indeed! For Molly, 
the once merry, high-spirited girl, had come back a crushed 
and broken-hearted woman; and Bertie was bowed down by 
sympathy for her troubles, and Lady Val had sorrows of her 
own. And Stella, who received them, also had her share of 
grief, and looked as if she had spent many hours of weariness 
and anxiety during the year that had elapsed since Molly’s 
marriage. 

' No question was asked or answered at first. Molly fell into 
Stella’s arms as naturally as if she had been a child coming 
home to her mother, and Stella folded her close to her breast, 
as if she could not bear to let her go. There was some sweet- 
ness to be got out of this sad home-coming, after all. And 
then Molly had to be put to bed, and comforted, and tended, 
and it was touching to see how gentle she had grown, how 
grateful for words and deeds of love. Stella was almost fright- 
ened by the change in her. She could hardly believe that 
Molly was once more before her— once more in her arms. 
And, indeed, this softened, spiritualized, sorrowing woman. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE 231 

whose soul seemed to look out from the wistful eyes as from a 
prison whence it would fain escape, was not the buoyant, un- 
chastened Molly of ancient days. 

44 You will forgive me, will you not?” Molly whispered, 
with her arms round Stella’s neck, before she had been in the 
house five minutes. 4 4 'Will you forgive me — everything?” 

44 My darling, yes.” 

44 Even — about those letters?” 

44 1 had forgotten them. They did no harm.” 

44 But I meant them to do harm. Oh, say that you forgive 
me!” 

44 1 do, dear Molly, from the very bottom of my heart.” 

And then Molly drew a long breath and lay back content. 
But she was too weary to say much; and she soon fell into a 
sleep of utter exhaustion, and could be left in the care of a 
maid, while Stella provided for Lady Valencia’s comforts, and 
held a private conference with Bertie. 

She was not on very familiar terms with Lady Val, and had 
been startled to hear of her visit. She was grateful for Lady 
Val’s care of Molly, but she felt that she did not understand 
it, and supposed that it would have to go unexplained, in 
common with many other things. But Lady Val was not 
minded to have it so. Later in the evening, she begged her 
hostess to sit with her for a little while over her bedroom fire, 
so that she might talk with her before going to rest. Stella 
came willingly; yet she was conscious of a certain fear of what 
Lady Val was going to say. For Lady Val was not apt to 
mince matters, and there was no knowing what view she would 
take of John Hannington’s delinquencies. 

So Stella, with her pretty golden hair all down her back, 
rested by the fire, and waited rather nervously for her visitor’s 
communications. Lady Val sat on a stool, almost at Stella’s 
feet — for Mrs. Moncrieff had been installed in a great chintz- 
covered chair, which Lady Val called the seat of honor — and 
for some time did not speak at all. 

44 1 am going to make a general confession to you, Mrs. 
Moncrieff,” she said, at last. 44 Or— may I not call you 
Stella, as Bertie does? 1 should like to, if you will let me; 
and I hope you will reciprocate, and call me Val.” 

44 1 shall be very glad.” 

44 It is about Molly and Jack Hannington that I want to 
talk. You know that he is one of my oldest acquaintances, 
perhaps?” 

44 1 have heard so.” 

44 Yes, we knew each other very well. Jack and 1,” said 


232 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Lady Val, leaning her chin on her clasped hands and gazing 
thoughtfully into the fire. “ We were playmates, compan- 
ions, friends — lovers afterward, and enemies now, I am 
afraid. No, not enemies; I can never be Jack’s enemy, 
although he is mine and Molly’s and yours, and his own to 
boot. ’ ’ 

Stella had started slightly at the word “ lovers,” but she 
did not speak. 

“Jack Hanning ton,” Lady Val went on, “ has a heart, 
though you may not think it. 1 am going to tell you some- 
thing, Stella, that I have never told to mortal ears before; be- 
cause I want you to understand his position a little better. He 
has a heart, and he has — or had — some sort of a conscience; 
but both, I acknowledge, are in a bad way. He was brought 
up to be a rich man and he was made a poor one by the fraud 
and trickery of a near relative — it is that which ruined him. 
He got into debt; he was in constant difficulties, and the one 
thing that everybody pressed upon him was the necessity that 
he was under to make a wealthy marriage.” 

“ It does not seem to me,” said Stella, as Lady Valencia 
paused, “ that you have chosen a very opportune moment for 
his defense.” 

Lady Val’s eyes suddenly flashed. “ Why not?” she said. 
“ This is just the very time, in my opinion. He has thor- 
oughly disgraced himself; nobody will ever forget who hears 
the story that he turned his wife out-of-doors on a stormy 
night in November; even the world, which is so ready to par- 
don, will not pardon that. Is it not the very time, then, for 
a true friend to say what she can in his defense?” 

“ You are right,” said Stella, with a sigh, “ and I was un- 
generous. But when 1 think of what Molly suffers — ” 

“ We have all suffered,” said Lady Val, who always 
laughed when other people would have cried, “ all suffered at 
Jack’s hands, have we not? My dear, don’t look so shocked; 
1 don’t mean to be flippant; but ” — taking Stella’s hand 
caressingly — “ is it not true? You were engaged to him for a 
little while, I believe? And he broke it off — ” 

“ Did he tell you?” 

“ I gathered it chiefly for myself by putting two and two 
together. He proposed to you because he thought you were 
rich, and then when he found you were not he broke off the 
engagement. Was it not so? Well, you were lucky. With 
poor Molly he thought that he had found a prize. And she is 
not so rich as he fancied, and he is disappointed.” 

“ I was not his wife; he had a right to break off his en- 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


233 


gagement with me if he chose. 1 am very thankful now that 
it happened so/* said Stella, the color rising in her cheeks. 
“ But that is no excuse for his treatment of Molly.” 

“ Of course it isn't. I am not making excuse for it. I 
only want you to understand him a little better. Let me tell 
you what happened to myself, Stella. When we were boy and 
girl we loved each other; yes, he loved me, little as you may 
think that he knew how to love; and we hoped at one time 
that we should be able to marry. But the everlasting money 
question rose up. He had a pittance, and so had I; but even 
the two together were not thought enough to justify us in 
marrying. So our parents kept us apart until we had grown 
more sensible. When we were a little older, we made love as 
a sort of joke whenever we saw each other; but we had not 
the least serious thought of marrying. I used always to ad- 
vise him to marry for money; I used to point out rich heir- 
esses to him, and plan good matches for him till I was tired. 
I advised him to follow up his acquaintance with you, I re- 
member. That does not vex you now, does it?” 

“ Not in the least.” 

“ I have often thought,” said Lady Val, breaking off her 
reminiscences, and looking reflectively into the fire again, 
“ that all our miseries came from our worldliness. If, a few 
years ago, he and I had had the pluck to say, £ we'll go out 
into the world together and work for a living; we will be eco- 
nomical and laborious, and love one another,' how much we 
should all have been saved! Molly would be still a child at 
Torresmuir; you, Stella dear, would not have had the pain 
which I know you suffered once; and I — I — 1 might have been 
a happy wife and mother, and my poor Jack a good man after 
all! You remember Browning's lines: 

“ * This could have happened but once, 

And we missed it, lost it forever. ’ 

By our own fault, too. We were worldly, cowardly, and 
base; and we reap exactly what we have sown.” 

Her dark eyes were softened beneath a mist of tears. Stella 
put her hand caressingly round her neck, and for a few mo- 
ments they were silent. Then Valencia' brushed away her 
tears and smiled. 

“ 1 don't often lapse into the moralizing vein, I fancy; and 
no doubt you have had enough of it. Let me come back to 
the relation of my experiences. I heard that Jack was mak- 
ing love by stealth to Molly, and I told you of it, thinking to 
put you on your guard. Jack was too clever for you, Stella. 


234 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


He got Molly away and married her. And I, like the great 
tool I was, thought that as I had warned you, the matter was 
settled, and so deferred to tell Jack of the prospect of wealth 
that was just then before me. If 1 had told him in time, 1 
don't think that it is derogatory to Molly to say that he would 
have broken with her at once, as he did with you. But, un- 
fortunately, 1 did not see him early enough. I met him one 
day in Glasgow, and persuaded him to have tea with me while 
I told him my news. I was rich — I could give him everything 
he wanted, and I loved him ; would he marry me? That was, 
in effect, what I said to him, Stella, and you can guess what 
answer I got for my pains." 

“ It was too late?" 

44 He had married Molly that morning." 

“ And then?" 

44 Then! What was there to do but to say good-bye?" 

44 Was he so faithful to Molly?" 

44 Oh, Stella, you are a witch! I suppose if 1 had been weak, 
he would have been weak too — and cursed me for it afterward. 
Men are like that, you know. They always say, 4 The woman 
tempted me,' as soon as the apple turns to ashes in their 
mouths. That is all I can tell you. We did say good-bye, 
and — we are here." 

“You must have been very brave, dear," said Stella, softly. 

44 Brave? Not I. But I was angry, which did as well. 
The upshot of all this is, Stella, that Molly has got wind of 
my love for Jack, and that it has helped to cause her unhap- 
piness. I am sure of that; although we have said nothing. 
You know how things are understood without saying among 
women. But she is needlessly unhappy about it; and I want 
her to know that since that day I have never spoken to her 
husband — never seen him, save at a distance. Don't you 
think it would be well if she knew this?" 

44 It might be. But it is a difficult matter to speak of — un- 
less she were to mention it. " 

44 1 don't suppose she will ever do that," said Lady Valencia, 
with a sigh. A few minutes' silence followed, and then, rous- 
ing herself, she added more briskly: 44 I'm an old friend of the 
family, Stella, and therefore I dare ask questions which no- 
body else can put. What makes Alan Moncrieff so unforgiv- 
ing to his pretty daughter? Why have not she and Jack made 
their footing good here? It is a little mysterious to me." 

Stella blushed vividly. “ I can not tell you," she said. 

44 There was something beside the mere runningaway, then? 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


235 


1 thought there must be. That was hardly enough to account 
for the long estrangement. But I suppose I am not to ask?” 

“ I think not— please.” 

“ As I have so much interest in all of you, I almost think 
that I ought to know,” said Lady Yal, carelessly. “ How- 
ever, it is, of course, for you to decide. 1 know a case in 
point; a girl who eloped and took her mother’s jewels with 
her, and — What’s the matter?” 

Stella had been unable to conceal a little shiver, a slight 
twitch of the fingers, which told the keen-witted Lady Val 
half if not all the story. 

“You were not born for a conspirator,” she said, shrewdly. 
“ I have guessed it, have 1? Somehow, 1 did not think that 
either of them would do that. You had better tell me all the 
story, Stella.” 

“I can not believe it either,” said Stella, “ neither does 
Bertie. But Alan forbade us to question Molly, and we have 
no means of getting at the truth. 1 will tell you the whole, 
as you have guessed so much.” 

Lady Valencia listened attentively while the story was told. 
“ I know very little of Mr. Kingscott,” she said at its close, 
“ but it sounds to me as if he knew more than he chose to say. 
Do you trust him?” 

“ I can not.” 

“ Mr. Moncrieff does?” 

“ Perfectly. ” 

“ It will be rather hard to disentangle the truth. May I 
try my hand at it, Stella?” 

“ I can not give you permission; you must ask my hus- 
band. ” 

“ Very well. When will your husband be back?” 

“ The day after to-morrow. But I am afraid that he will 
not allow you to speak to him about it — he feels it so deep- 
ly-” 

“ Then I won’t speak to him about it. I’ll act without. 
I’ll take all the responsibility on my own shoulders, so do not 
you be alarmed. I am perhaps wiser than you think. At any 
rate, we can face the position better now that we have had 
this talk, can we not, Stella? And I will keep you up no 
longer, for you look terribly pale and fagged. Good-night, 
you sweet star — does Alan never call you the star of his exist- 
ence?” 

But the question brought a flush of color and a tear that de- 
cided Lady Val not to ask another. 

Stella did not know where letters would find her husband, 


236 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


as he was traveling from place to place; and those which she 
wrote during the next few days certainly did not reach him 
before his return to Torresmuir. When at last, in the first 
week of December, a telegram came announcing the date of 
his arrival, he was still uninformed respecting Molly’s presence 
in the house. For this reason alone Stella would have been 
anxious for his return; and before long she had another cause 
for anxiety. The journey, which Molly seemed at first to have 
borne so well, had overtaxed her energies and brought on ill- 
ness of an alarming kind. For some hours her life trembled 
in the balance, and even when the worst seemed to be over, 
and a beautiful little baby-girl lay in thp young mother’s arms, 
a terrible fit of hysterical weeping again hazarded her safety 
and made her attendants nervously watchful against excite- 
ment of any kind. It was no wonder, therefore, that, although 
Stella felt a sense of relief at the thought for Alan’s arrival, 
that relief was not unmingled with somethingjwhich bore a 
strong resemblance to fear. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

“ MY STAR!” 

Kimgscott was for once as ignorant of Alan’s whereabouts 
as Stella; and his ignorance was excessively annoying to him. 
It would have been his greatest possible delight to steal a 
march on Stella and to represent her to her husband as defy- 
ing his commands and utterly neglecting his wishes; he could, 
he fancied, have drawn a very striking picture of <e Stella in 
revolt,” as he phrased it to himself, Stella opening the doors 
of Torresmuir to the disobedient runaway daughter whom 
Alan had never intended to invite to his home again. This 
was all, no doubt, a fancy picture; but it would have been ex- 
tremely gratifying to heighten its hues and intensify its dis- 
tinctness in Alan’s eyes. The provoking part of it was that 
Alan had not chosen to leave him his address. It was almost 
the first time that this had happened; and Kingscott was 
obliged to see in it what he had for a long time suspected, 
that Alan did not trust him as much as in former days, and 
was rapidly learning to dispense with his services. 

Under these circumstances he began to wonder whether it 
would not be best for him to take his leave of Torresmuir at a 
somewhat early date. He had reason to be well' satisfied with 
his gains; he had secured for himself a large sum of money 
which he had carefully invested in foreign securities; he would 
be able to decamp at a moment’s notice, if necessary, without 




THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


237 


sacrificing a farthing. The game was almost played out now. 
If Molly and her husband were to be installed at Torresmuir, 
he knew that he must take to flight. For of all the people 
whom he had traduced or injured in his life, he had most rea- 
son to dread Alan Moncrieff and John Hannington, especially 
in conjunction. 

What he could do at present, however, was to make Stella 
exceedingly uncomfortable by a pretense of knowing Alan’s 
address and witholding it. She could not tell that this was 
untrue; and it threw her into a fever to recollect from time to 
time that he might all this while be corresponding with her 
husband, giving him the details of her life, traducing her 
motives, vilifying her deeds. She believed him — rightly 
enough — to be capable of all this. And she could not be 
content in the thought of its possibility; for although she told 
herself repeatedly that she did not now love her husband she 
was strangely sensitive to his opinion of her. She still shrunk 
from the idea that her actions were misrepresented in his 
eyes, and at the same time she told herself that it was useless 
to care what he thought of her. Such contradictions of feel- 
ing will sometimes exist in the most logical persons alive; and 
Stella did not try to reconcile the two; she let them flourish 
side by side, and the one might choke the other if it could. 

The antagonism between herself and Ealph Kingscott was 
now carried into the veriest trifles, and it was not to be won- 
dered at that it manifested itself at the time of Alan’s return. 
Who was to meet the master of the house? What carriage 
should be sent? Stella said that she would go herself; but 
Mr. Kingscott calmly assured her that this was impracticable, 
as the bay horses had fallen lame, the landau was out of re- 
pair, and finally that Alan had told him to come himself in 
the dog-cart. Stella, flushing with annoyance, ceded the field. 
Ealph must meet him then; and Alan must hear the first ac- 
count of her doings from Ealph’s malicious tongue. There 
was no help for it, and she could not even protest. 

Moreover, she had to keep her face calm and cheerful, for 
Molly, still terribly weak and excitable, must not know that 
anything was amiss. So, in spite of a very heavy heart, Stella 
was her sweet, serene self in the sick-room; and if, when 
Molly was sleeping, a few tears fell on the little red face of 
the baby that Stella loved to hold, nobody was the wiser, and 
the tears were hastily wiped away without leaving any trace 
behind. 

Mr. Kingscott had driven of in the dog-cart about three 
o’clock, but he had some business in the town, and was not to 


238 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


meet Alan until a little after five o’clock. They would hardly 
reach Torresmuir before six. 

Lady Valencia, who was still in the house, noticed Stella’s 
pale cheeks, and persuaded her to go out for a stroll about 
two o’clock. “ I’ll sit with Molly,” she said, “ and take care 
of Miss Babs. What will Mr. Moncrieff say to that white 
face? Go and , get a little fresh air, dear, and you will be all 
the better able to give your husband a welcome.” 

Possibly she was right, thought Stella, as she went to look 
for her hat; it would be well to steady her nerves and raise her 
spirits a little before she encountered Alan. There would 
probably be a battle to fight with him; he would no doubt be 
angry with her for telegraphing to Molly to come home, and 
he might not credit her with not having known where he was 
staying. Besides, if Ralph knew, he might have been leading 
Alan to believe that she had acted out of mere willfulness — oh, 
there was no end to the complicated possibilities of vexation 
that lay before her!* She tried to string her courage up to a 
high point, but her heart would beat faster at every thought 
of her husband, and her hands would turn cold when she 
pictured his look of stern disapproval! Her efforts were use- 
less, and she decided that it was better not to think of him at 
all than to distress herself by these anticipations; and so she 
tried to turn her attention to the wintery scenes among which 
she walked, and to notice only the contrasts of sunlight and 
shadow on the snow-clad hills, or the glitter of hoar-frost on 
the trees and shrubs on either hand. 

She had taken the road that led toward Dunkeld, and did 
not intend to go very far. The day was cold but bright, and 
walking was very pleasant. She went for some little distance, 
gathering a winter bouquet on her way — a few red berries, a 
yellow leaf or two, a mossy twig, and by and by she began to 
rearrange her little nosegay, looking down at it instead of 
straight before her. So it happened that she did not in the 
least see that any one was approaching, and when, at the 
sound of a halting footstep she raised her eyes, she started 
violently to find that they met those of her husband, who was 
standing in the road before her. 

“ Stella!” There was the most extraordinary pleasure in 
his face and voice. “ Did you come to meet me?” 

“ No,” said Stella, hastily. “ Oh, no, I did not think that 
you could come until six o’clock. ” She shrunk and colored as 
she spoke, and saw the light suddenly die out of his face and 
eyes. “ Mr. Kingscott has gone to meet you.” 

“ Indeed? I did not see him. You were on your way 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


239 


somewhere, perhaps; do not let me detain you " — with freez- 
ing politeness. 

“I only came out for a stroll. I am going home now. I 
will walk back with you. " 

“ Oh, don't trouble yourself. Don't turn back if you want 
a walk." ’ 

44 1 want to walk back with you," she said — an insistence 
which struck him as unusual — 44 if you will let me." 

44 1 shall be most happy to have your company," he an- 
swered, in the formal voice that she had learned to know so 
well. And then he glanced curiously at her flushed face, as if 
he wondered at her discomposure; and they walked on to- 
gether. 

44 I suppose you know," she said, after a little pause, “ that 
I had not your address?" 

44 I suppose not. I did not think that you would want it." 

44 I have written several times to places where I thought you 
might be found, but you have not got my letters." 

“ No. You — you — ivanted me, Stella?" 

44 There was some news for you to hear." 

44 Oh, that was all." His voice grew indifferent at once. 

“It is a great deal. It is very important. Mr. Kingscott 
did not tell it you, then?" 

44 I have not seen him since 1 came back." 

44 1 thought that he might have written." 

“ He did not know where I was. Do you think that I 
should tell him my address when I had not told you?" 

Stella was conscious of something unusual — something in- 
definably warm and caressing —which crept now and then into 
his tone; but it was so quickly succeeded by coldness, that she 
had scarcely time to realize it before it was gone. 

44 I wanted to be alone for a time — not to be troubled with 
business letters," he went on. 4 4 There was nothing for which 
I was likely to be needed at home. I have been walking — and 
thinking; that is all." 

44 1 have a groat deal to tell you," said Stella, tremulously. 
44 Molly is here." 

44 Molly?" She had somewhat expected the quick, stern 
look of inquiry, the bending of the haughty brows. “And 
her husband?" 

44 Her husband turned her out into the street one cold, 
stormy night. She went to Bertie's lodgings. They tele- 
graphed here to know if she might come." 

“ Hannington turned her out? Turned Molly out? — his 
wife?" He stopped short in the road, as if he could not go 


240 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


on, his lips working with emotion ; suddenly he broke out with 
a violent ejaculation. “ The scoundrel! the brute! And I not 
here to horsewhip him! Well, what next? What did she do? 
She came here — of course. Well?” 

“ Oh, Alan, I w#s afraid that you would not like her 
coming!” was Stella’s involuntary cry. 

“ Not like it? My own daughter? Do you think that I 
am such an inhuman father, then? You could have no doubt 
about it, Stella! You telegraphed to her to come, did you 
not?” 

“Yes, at once.” 

“ Of course you did. I had no need to ask the question. 
And he — what did he do? Has he been here too? What a 
fool I was to leave no address! But I thought — well, nover 
mind; tell me everything.” 

“We have not heard from Mr. Hannington. Lady Valen- 
cia had a letter from a friend of hers, who told her that he 
had not been seen for some days — that people thought he had 
gone abroad. Lady Valencia and Bertie came with Molly. 
She has been very ill, Alan; I thought that we should have 
lost her. ” 

And then her eyes filled with tears and her face paled a 
little. The fear of her husband, so suddenly removed, the 
remembrance of past anxiety, unnerved her. She could not 
speak or walk for a minute or two; she stood still in the 
middle of the lonely road, and was surprised to find Alan’s 
strong arm round her, his voice begging her to lean on him, 
to be comforted, to remember that he was near. His words 
were so incoherent that she thought she could not have heard 
them aright, and when she was able to' glance up into his face 
he suddenly became silent and looked confused and ashamed. 

“ Molly is better now,” she said, “ and the baby, Alan, is 
such a dear littel girl.” 

She felt herself drawn a little closer to him. She did not 
quite understand his emotion, and she went on softly: 

“ I think Molly will be happier when she has seen you. We 
have all wanted you — ” 

“ All wanted me? Even you?” 

She did not answer. He felt her quiver all over within his 
arm. Some new sensation caused him suddenly to relinquish 
his hold. He turned away from her and stood with his face 
averted for several seconds. She thought that she had vexed 
him by her silence, and ached with the effort to speak — to 
explain, to justify herself, and yet she could not do it. Some- 
thing withheld her tongue from Speech. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


241 


t£ Tell me all about it/ 5 he said at last, in his usual calm, 
cold way. 44 Are you well enough to walk on? Tell me about 
this scoundrel of a fellow. Has nobody done anything? 55 

Stella found her voice in order to reply. She told him the 
whole story, as far as she knew it, in detail; and Alan’s wrath 
broke out afresh when he heard it. 

“ My poor child! 55 he said, striding along so fast in his 
indignation that Stella could scarcely keep up with him. 
“My poor little Molly! she has suffered indeed! She has 
expiated her wrong-doing, certainly. Well, we will keep her 
with us — her and her child; and try to make her happy, poor 
wounded heart? Shall we not, Stella? 55 

“ I shall be only too glad to keep her. 55 

“ I ought to have been at home. I ought never to have 
done such a wild thing as to go off in that way, as if I did not 
care what befell any of you. 1 shall never forgive myself. 
But I certainly had an idea that I left an address with Mac- 
alister. 1 suppose 1 forgot it. I meant to have important 
letters forwarded. I was a fool — a fool. A selfish fool, too, 
for I went for my own satisfaction only. If I tell you why 1 
went, Stella, 1 wonder whether you will think it possible ever 
to forgive me for my neglect of you. 55 

“ Tell me, 55 she said, softly. 

“ My dear/ 5 he said,- stopping short and looking fixedly at 
her, 4 4 1 had been finding out that I could not bear the state 
of things between us — the life we lead — any longer. And I 
went away that I might, in the course of a few lonely days, 
settle one or two matters with my conscience. 1 wanted to 
decide whether you were right or wrong in the accusation you 
brought against me. I thought-^even on that night when we 
talked together in the library — that you were wrong. Do you 
remember? But the more I think of it, the more I am certain 
that you were right. 55 

She wished that she could stop him, but the strange dumb- 
ness which had beset her before made it impossible for her to 
utter a word. He went on. 

44 1 acknowledge the truth of everything that you said to 
me. I have been harsh, tyrannical, suspicious, overbearing. 
My children did well to distrust my love; it was not great 
enough to give them what they needed. And you were right 
to reproach me — even to despise me; for I had been willfully 
blind to the light that shone upon me — the light of the star 
that might have guided me. It does guide me in spite of all: 
it leads me back to yourself. I dome back, Stella, to tell you 
in all humbleness and sincerity that I see my error, and that. 


242 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


as far as it is possible to me, I do repent of it. And if this 
does not content you, and you still find it a horrible and 
grievous thing to live in my house after the way in which I 
have behaved to you, why, then, my dear, there is still one 
way open to us; 1 can relieve you of my presence. 1 will go 
away, if you wish to be rid of me, and I swear I will not 
trouble you again. I said that I would never let you go; and 
I never will; but if you bid me I will go myself. You shall 
decide. And that is what I have been thinking of in these 
days of my absence, while you were bearing my burdens and 
helping my children, and 1 was selfishly loitering away my 
days on the hills and moors. I repent, Stella, but 1 know 
very well that repentance does not undo a wrong. I ask you 
to decide our future: that is all. 1 dare not ask you to for- 
give me.” 

Then, as she was still silent, he added, in a low tone: 

“ Tell me, Stella, shall 1 go or stay?” 

“ Stay,” said said, almost inaudibly. 

“ You say that out of kindness. No, that will not do. My 
life here is intolerable*— if you do not want me. ” 

“ 1 do want you, Alan.” 

“ But, my dear, you don’t understand. I am such a blun- 
derer. What I mean is that, in finding out that you were 
right, I found out also how much I loved you. Yes, with my 
whole heart and soul, Stella. I can not bear to live in the 
same house with you, my darling, unless you can love me a 
little and forgive me a great deal. ” 

She forgot that they were in the open road-way, where 
travelers might come and go at any moment. With a move- 
ment so quick that it took him by surprise, she threw her 
arms round his neck and looked into his face. 

“Oh, Alan, Alan!” she said, “I have been as blind as 
you, and far, far more unjust than you. Did you believe me 
when 1 said that my love was dead? Darling, I have loved 
you all the time. Oh, it is good to have you here, to know 
that you are home again, and that you love me too!” 

“ My star! my blessed guiding star!” he murmured as, for 
the first time, their lips met in the loving kiss so long desired 
— so long delayed — so perfect when at last it was given and 
received. “ I have strayed from you too long: God helping 
me I will never leave you again, never close my eyes. again to 
your brightness, you sweet star of my life.” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


243 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

HIS ONLY FRIEND. 

It was a new experience to Molly to have her father’s arms 
about her, and to recognize with surprise and delight the love 
that shone from his eyes, the tenderness breathing in every 
accent of his voice. It was a revelation to her. She had 
never known, as she said naively to Stella afterward, that her 
father “ cared so much.” She was too weak and languid to 
talk a great deal; but there was great comfort for her in the 
assurance of his forgiveness, and the kisses that he pressed on 
the face of her baby -girl as well as upon her own. 

One anxiety alone possessed her. She found it difficult to 
speak of her husband without tears and agitation, and the 
subject of her marriage was therefore generally avoided. But 
she insisted on begging her father not to try to see Hanning- 
ton — not to take any notice of the past, but to let her stay 
quietly at Torresmuir, and leave him to go his own way. Mr. 
Moncrielf was obliged to promise that he would do nothing — 
at anv rate until she was stronger— -and that he would tell her 
if John Hannington wrote or came to Torresmuir. 

“ He had better not come,” said Alan to his wife, with an 
ominous darkening of his brows. “ He shall never enter my 
doors.” 

But it is easy to say what shall or shall not happen; not as 
easy always to control fate. 

To Lady Val’s observant eye, the change in the relations be- 
tween Stella and Alan Moncrielf was very plain. She saw at 
once, too, that her own presence was something of a super- 
fluity. Molly was slowly recovering; Bertie and Kingscott 
were outwardly civil companions to one another, although, no 
longer friends; Lady Val felt herself one too many, and 
thought it better to announce her immediate return to 
London. She started two days after Alan’s arrival, and 
reached town on the 17th of December, when Christmas 
preparations were in full swing, and the ‘ 4 Christmas rush ” 
was just beginning. 

Owing to her sudden departure from London, which had 
upset all her previous arrangements, she found herself alone 
in her pretty little house near the park, without occupation 
or engagement. She had a good deal to think about, and was 
not sorry to find herself thus unencumbered. The matter of 
the jewelry and the papers which Molly was said to have ab- 


244 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


stracted weighed upon her mind. She knew that not a ques- 
tion had been asked of the poor young mother; her father’s 
forgiveness had been accorded freely and fully, and he had re- 
solved to bury the whole matter in oblivion. But it was not 
altogether easy for Lady Valencia to do this. For she had 
loved John Hannington, and it was the bitterest sorrow of her 
life to think him base. 

On the second day of her arrival in town she received a call 
from Captain Rutherford. She had written to tell him that 
she was returning, and was not at all surprised to see him 
when he appeared. She noticed that he looked harassed and 
anxious, and she hastened to give him, in her usual light and 
cheerful way, some reassuring news of Molly, of whom she felt 
sure that he wanted to hear. 

“Iam glad she is safe at home,” he said at length, with a 
heavy sigh. 

“ So am I,” said Lady Val, briskly. “ But you look dread- 
fully worried, Charlie. Anything wrong?” 

“It’s — John Hannington,” muttered Charlie. 

He did not see the change that passed over Lady Valencia’s 
face. She sat erect, and pressed her hands tightly together, 
but her voice did not alter as she said: 

“ Well, what of him? Is he. not in Paris?” 

“No, worse luck. He’s at home as usual — and from what 
1 hear he’s drinking himself to death.” 

“ Drinking! Are you sure?” 

“ His servant went to Donald Vereker a day or two ago and 
asked him to get his master to see a doctor. Donald, having 
heard of the way in which he had treated his wife, refused to 
go near him. He told me so, and took great credit to himself 
for being so virtuous. I don’t see it in the same light — al- 
though I loathe John Hannington with all my heart. It was 
almost impossible for me to interfere. But I did what I 
could.” 

“ What did you do, Charlie?” 

“ I hunted up the doctor that I knew they used to see some- 
times. He would not go for a long time; he said it would be 
an intrusion. However, I persuaded him; and he went this 
afternoon, as if to pay a friendly call. He was admitted, and 
he saw John Hannington.” 

“Well?” 

“ He was in a very queer state,” said Captain Rutherford, 
slowly. “ He was half stupefied. He must have been using 
some drug as well as drinking brandy. He did not seem to 
resent the doctor’s visit, but he would not promise to follow 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


245 


the advice that was given. It seems doubtful whether he 
quite understood it. ” 

“ What was the advice?” said Lady Val, sharply. 

4 4 First and foremost, to give up brandy and opiates, of 
course. Then, to change his habits of life completely — go 
into the country, live a great deal in the fresh air, travel and 
amuse himself. If not — ” 

44 Well, if not—?” 

44 He will either have an attack of delirium tremens before 
long, or he will continue to stupefy himself until his brain 
softens and he lapses into imbecility.” 

“ Oh, that is dreadful!” said Lady Val, with a sudden 
shiver. 44 Can nothing be done? Can you do nothing, 
Charlie?” 

44 How can I?” said the young man, gloomily. 44 1 am not 
his friend. For — for Mrs. Hannington's sake 1 am sorry for 
his condition; but it — it is his own fault. Lady Valencia. It 
is no misfortune; it is a sin— a crime — to drink and to drug 
one's self until one's self-control is lost. If he has a friend in 
the world, let his friend be told, and let his friend help him; 
but I can't. ” 

44 1 am his friend,” said Lady Val, rising hastily from her 
chair. 44 1 am the only friend he has left. I'll go to him and 
tell him what he must do.” 

44 You, Lady Valencia! But that is impossible,” said the 
young man, rising also, and looking at her in alarm. 44 You 
could not — ■" 

44 Yes, I could, Charlie! And you are going to help me,” 
said his hostess, turning very pale, and clinching her hands 
against her side. Her eyes glowed like coals of fire beneath 
her black brows. 44 If you think that I am going to stand by 
and see him drift down to madness or death without holding 
out a helping hand to him you are mistaken. I am going to 
him this moment, under your escort, Charlie, and between us 
we will bring John Hannington to a better mind.” 

44 But Lady Valencia,” stammered Charlie, 44 you can not 
go. Let me go; I will do my best — ” 

44 You don't know John Hannington as I do,” said Lady 
Val, resolutely; 44 and, as you said just now, you are not his 
friend. What are you afraid of? Mrs. Grundy? You ought 
to know by this time that she has no terrors for me; 1 can 
afford to despise her when I am doing only what is right. 
What does conventionality matter when a man's life and 
reason are at stake? Let us throw all foolish, selfish notions 


246 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


to the wind, and do our best to make this poor wretch a better 
man and a better husband than he has ever been before.” 

“ You would never send him back to her.” 

“ Ay, but 1 would,” said Lady Val, vehemently, “if it 
were to beg her to pardon him and promise to make amends. 
If there are symptoms of disease, as the doctor says, don’t you 
see that they make all the difference in the way in which she 
can look at what he has done? I should feel so, at least. But 
it is no use talking it over, Charlie: will you go with me, or 
will you not?” 

“ Really, Lady Val—” 

“ Because, if you won’t, I shall go alone.” 

Charlie yielded the point. He had unlimited faith in Lady 
Valencia, and he thought that she was behaving with heroic 
courage, but he was not well convinced of her wisdom on this 
occasion. And, indeed, her action had a quixotic look, and 
contained within it certain elements of danger; but then 
Charlie Rutherford did not understand the whole of the story, 
and Lady Val was not a person easy to restrain when she 
wanted her own way. 

It was only about four in the afternoon when the two visit- 
ors arrived at the house which Mr. and Mrs. Hannington had 
occupied for the last few months. Mr. Hannington, they 
were told, was up and dressed: he was in the little drawing- 
room, which opened out of a large apartment. In this larger 
room Lady Val begged Charlie to stay, while she, with ap- 
parently undaunted courage, knocked at the inner door, 
opened it, and walked in, shutting it behind her. She would 
never have acknowledged how fast her heart beat, or how she 
felt for a moment or *two as if she were walking straight into 
a lion’s den. 

The lamps were not lighted, but the red glow of the fire fell 
full upon the figure in the arm-chair which had been dragged 
forward on the hearth-rug. John Hannington lay rather than 
sat in its capacious embrace; he was wrapped in a great fur 
overcoat as if he felt the cold, and he seemed to be half asleep. 
Lady Val’s quick eye noted immediately that on a little table 
beside him stood a tray containing a half -emptied bottle of 
brandy, a glass, and one or two smaller bottles. For a minute 
or two she stood looking at him, while he slumbered, or seemed 
to slumber, unconscious of her presence. A harder expression 
came into her face as she gazed. 

“ Mr. Hannington,” she said at length, in a peculiarly clear 
and penetrating voice; “ I have come for a little talk with 
you, if you can give me a few minutes.” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


247 


He stirred uneasily and opened his eves. “ Val!” he said, 
hoarsely, at last. He looked up at her for some seconds, with 
a dazed expression in his face. Then he suddenly uttered a 
groan, and dropped his head upon his breast. The look, the 
action, made Lady Valencia turn very pale. 

“ Are you ill. Jack?” she asked, laying her hand on his 
arm. 

“ I have been ill; yes, I am ill now.” 

“ Shall I go away?” 

There was a little silence. “Why have you come?” he 
muttered. 

“To see whether I could help you. You are ill and in 
trouble, and I am your friend. Jack, and want to help you if 
I can.” 

The words seemed to rouse him. He raised himself into a 
sitting posture, rested his elbows on his knees, and began 
passing his hands up and down his forehead as if trying to 
banish some strange haziness of thought. Lady Val took away 
his hand, and watched him keenly. What would he do next? 

She was hardly prepared for the next action. He lifted his 
face again, looked toward the little table and stretched out his 
hand for the brandy. Quick as thought her fingers alighted 
on the bottle first. “No, Jack,” she said, keeping a firm 
hold upon it, “ not that. You are killing yourself.” 

“ And why should I not?” he asked, fiercely. The light 
had come back into his sullen eyes. 

“ Are you so ready to die?” she said. And then she re- 
moved the little table to some distance and stood between it 
and his chair. There was again a short silence, during which 
it was evident that Hannington was endeavoring to recollect 
himself and to recover his scattered senses. It was only Lady 
VaTs presence that could have caused him to make so great 
an effort over his inclinations. He roused himself more and 
more, and finally he uttered a short, vague laugh, and stag- 
gered to his feet. 

“ I have been dreaming, I think,” he said. “ I don’t quite 
know what I’m doing. No, it is not brandy, as you think. 
Lady Valencia. And it is not illness.” 

“ What is it, then?” 

“ Opium. Give me a glass of cold water, if you have one 
there. 1 shall be better directly. ” 

She did as she was requested. He drank it off, pressed his 
hands to his head once more, and then turned upon her with 
a new look in his eyes. She saw at once that he was sullen.. 


248 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


irritable, perhaps even ashamed; but he was perfectly sober, 
and he was sane. 

44 I do not know to what I am indebted for this visit, ” he 
said, in a hard and slightly sneering tone. 44 My wife is not 
at home, as probably you are aware.” 

44 I come almost straight from her,” said Lady Yal, straight- 
forwardly. 44 I have been a good deal with her ever since the 
night when you turned her out-of-doors into the street.” 

He turned aside as if stung. “ You know well enough that 
I never meant her to go,” he said, sullenly. “ I called her 
back directly — I was mad with rage and — and — ” 

44 And drink,” said Lady Yal, in her clear, concise way. 

44 Well,” he said, doggedly, 44 if you like to have it so, you 
may. Drink. Who drove me to that, 1 should like to know?” 

“ No one drove you to it,” said she, facing him courageous- 
ly. “ You drifted into these habits through your own folly 
and weakness; and now you have disgraced yourself — ruined 
yourself — broken your wife's heart, and made your friends — 
your best friends — despair of you. ” 

44 Then,” said Hannington, with a short, hard laugh, 44 I 
had better put an end to it all as soon as possible. Will the 
brandy bottle do it quickly enough? Perhaps a pistol would 
suit you better! It will end in the one way or the other, you 
know. ” 

44 No, it won't,” said Lady Yal. 44 You have behaved dis- 
gracefully, Jack; there's no doubt about that. But you are 
not going to behave in that way any more. 1 defy you to look 
me in the face and tell me that you are going to make me 
ashamed of you for the rest of my life. I have a claim on you 
as well as Molly. And if Molly and I can not plead sufficient- 
ly with you, there is another claimant, Jack — one that I think 
you can not refuse.” 

4 4 What do you mean?” he said, in a lowered voice. He 
had looked her full in the face at the beginning of her sen- 
tences, but toward their close his eyes fell. He half turned 
away as he asked the question. 

44 Oh, Jack, don't you know?” said Lady Yalencia, softly. 

44 Not in the least.” 

44 Not that you have a little daughter? and that for her 
sake, as well as ours, you must be good?” 

It was the simplest possible appeal, and yet it was curiously 
effective. Hannington looked at her again for a moment, and 
then suddenly sat down as if his strength had given way, and 
covered his face with his hands. In the silence that followed 
Lady Yal heard a sound that was suspiciously like a sob. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


249 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE LAST CHANCE. 

“I never knew/* he said, without looking up, when the 
silence had lasted for some time. 

“ I thought you did not,” said Lady Val. 

“ You always knew me best, Val,” he murmured, with his 
face still hidden in his hands. 

“ Did I? 1 began to think that I had been mistaken. 
Jack.” 

But to this he made no answer. 

Presently, however, he let her hands fall from his face, sat 
up, and laughed aloud. The laughter made Lady Val stir 
uneasily, until she saw that in spite of his laughter, his face 
looked strained and pale, and that his eyes were dull with 
suffering. 

“ What difference does it make?” he said. “ I have been 
proved a — a sort of — brute to the whole world already; and 
this only makes matters worse. I sliall never see the child — 
or its mother. Moncrieff will take care of that. I shall go 
on in the way in which 1 have begun. ” 

“ No, Jack, you won’t.” 

“And why not? Why should you stand in the way of my 
going to destruction? It is your own fault. If — when we 
were younger — you had been kinder to me, if you had not 
yielded when your father said that I was too |poor to marry 
you, we should not be where we are to-day. You ruined me 
yourself, and it is too late to change.” 

“It is too late to change the past,” said Lady Valencia, 
steadily, “ but that has nothing to do with the future. You 
are a young man, John, young and strong; if you choose, you 
may have many years of a happy and prosperous life before 
you. If, because you have erred, you are too much like a 
petted child to say to yourself that you were wrong and now 
mean to do right, why, then, ruin is before you, and you will 
deserve it; but I believe in your manliness still.” 

“ Of course it was all my fault,” said the man, sullenly. 

“ No,” she said, quickly, “ I acknowledge my own. If I 
had not been so worldly and cowardly we should both have 
been happier. I see that now, and I ask for your forgiveness, 
Jack. When you have forgiven me, you will be better able to 
forgive yourself and start afresh.” 

“ There is no fresh start possible for me.” 


250 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE* 


“ Oh, yes, there is. Do you know that I have been staying 
at Torresmuir?” 

He started, but did not reply. 

44 Molly is there. I traveled north with her,” said Lady 
Yal, quite smoothly and calmly, as if she had been narrating 
the most ordinary incident in the world. 44 1 took the great- 
est care of her, but we could not prevent her feeling the fatigue 
of it — ” 

44 We,” Hannington repeated, below his breath. 

44 We — Bertie and I,” said she, tranquilly. 44 We two, and 
my maid. Poor Molly was very ill for some time after we 
arrived at Torresmuir. We were afraid that she would not 
get over it.” 

44 Why was I not told?” 

44 Nobody liked to write to you just then. I think a letter 
has been sent to you by Mr. Moncrieff. Not a very pleasant 
letter, perhaps. You have read it?” 

Hannington hesitated. 44 1 have opened no letters during 
the last few days/’ he said. 

44 Ah — that accounts for your not knowing anything. Well, 
Molly has pretty well got over the danger, but she is very 
weak. The baby is a sweet little girl: they think of calling it 
after me if you don't object. ” 

44 1!” he exclaimed. 44 1 — object ?” His voice expressed 
utter humiliation. 44 How can 1 object to — to — anything? 
Besides, you know that I would rather she were named after 
you than any one. But how — how — ” 

44 How did it come about?” asked Lady Yal, briskly. 44 1 
don’t quite know. Jack, I was sorry for Molly — I think that 
was all.” 

44 But she — ” 

44 She lets me be sorry for her. More than that: she trusts 
me, and 1 think that she loves me a little, too. I have a 
message from her to you.” 

44 From her — to me f” 

44 Yes. We talked about you before I left Torresmuir. 
We did not know where you were — we were told that you had 
gone abroad. But if I saw you, your wife said I might tell 
you that she asked you to forgive her for what she had said 
and done to provoke you, and — well, the rest depends upon 
what you say to that, andT am not bound to tell you any 
more!” 

44 What should I say to it?” said Hannington, looking up 
with a face that was white and set. 44 She has no need to ask 
me to forgive her. I suppose she knows — as all the world 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


25 1 


knows — that I behaved badly to her. 1 repented it as soon as 
she was gone. My God! 1 wish I had had the resolution to 
put a bullet through my brain! The whole world knows and 
condemns me now. ” 

Lady Val paused for a moment. It occurred to her, as she 
glanced at 1dm, that our punishments mostly come to us 
through what we love best; and that, as John Hannington 
had loved the world, bis scourging was to come from the 
world’s hands: a sort of retribution that is less rare than some 
people seem to understand. 

4 4 To take that way out of your difficulties,” she said, eying 
him keenly, 44 would be only to heap more misfortune on her 
head. Be a man. Jack; go to your wife ancj> ask her to for- 
give you, and see whether you can not manage to be happy 
yet. She told me that she wanted to see you! 1 think that 
you ought to go. It is your only way — your last chance.” 

44 Go to Alan MoncriefPs? Not I.” 

44 1 am sure that — for Molly’s sake — he would admit you.” 

44 It’s impossible,” he answered, shortly and sullenly. 44 1 
could not do it. It’s not so easy for a man to sue for pardon, 
Valencia. ’ ’ 

44 Ah, that is always a man’s way of talking!” cried Va- 
lencia, impatiently. 44 You will let a woman die rather than 
do a thing that is not easy! Who supposes that it is easy? 
Of course, you must — if you have a spark of goodness in you 
— feel it a terrible thing — a degrading thing— to have acted as 
you have done to poor Molly; and it is difficult to think- that 
he will forgive you, and so you won’t stoop to say that you 
are sorry! Oh, I have no patience with that kind of ‘pride! 
There’s no manliness in it, no real strength or nobility: it is 
sheer cowardice and weakness! The man that I could respect. 
Jack, is not the man who never falls, but the man who has 
the pluck to pick himself up when he has fallen, and to say — 

4 1 am sorry, but I’ll do better next time!’ That is the man 
I honor, not the man who does not know what temptation 
means!” 

Hannington stood silent, thrilled by her words as he had 
seldom been thrilled in his life before: with knitted brows, 
eyes averted, and breath quickening he waited until she had 
ended her tirade, then walked to the mantel-piece and laid his 
arm upon it and his forehead on his arm. There was a look 
of irresolution in the pose that he had adopted, which Va- 
lencia was quick to remark. 

44 If you won’t take the manly way out of your troubles,” 
said Lady Valencia, with a ring of scorn in her clear voice. 


252 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

“ then, at any rate, take a rational one. Give up these drugs, 
these poisons: leave London, emigrate, work for your own liv- 
ing, and make yourself to some extent a useful member of so- 
ciety. Your friends will see that you have work to do. All 
that is wanted is your own will and your own conscience. 
Waken them, and there is every hope for you; without them 
there is none. ” 

“You were never very much in the habit of sparing me. 
Lady Val,” said Hannington, lifting his head from his arm, 
“ and you certainly don’t spare me now.’ 7 

“ Why should I spare you? If only I could make you see 
the thing as I see it — as others see it! — but 1 know I can’t. 
Oh, Jack, Jack ’’ — suddenly lapsing into a tone of passionate 
entreaty — “ can’t you see what I mean? doesn’t it seem worth 
while to you to try?” 

“ It does while you are speaking,” said Hannington. 

“ Think of me as always speaking!” she cried. “ Remem- 
ber that I think of you — I pray for you — night and day. We 
are old friends, Jack, and I, for one, never forget old friends. 
For the sake of our friendship, I beg of you to go to your wife 
and child — ask Molly to forgive you, and begin a new life with 
her. It is the only thing I wish for in the world! The only 
thing that can make me happy any more.” 

“ Is it so?” he asked, with a sigh. “Well — it won’t be 
much good, Valencia, 1 warn you. But. for your sake — I’ll 
try. I’ll ask Molly to forgive me, and I’ll do my best to be 
less of a brute. Will that do? Will that satisfy you?” 

She held out both her hands to him; her eyes were full of 
tears. “ I always believed, in you,” she said, simply. And 
Hannington hung his head as he pressed her hands and let 
them go. Lady Val’s trust in him had never been without a 
restraining power. 

“ There’s one thingmore that you must do,” she said, after 
a few moments’ pause. “ There’s a mystery that you must 
try to clear up. In my own mind I am quite sure that Molly 
is innocent, but an imputation has been thrown on her char- 
acter which you must clear away.” 

“ What do you mean?” 

“Will you tell me what Molly took away with her from 
Torresmuir?” 

“ Took away with her?” said Hannington, staring. “ Some 
clothes in a black bag: that was all.” 

“ Jewels?” 

He laughed rather harshly, 

“ I never saw any.” 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


253 


“ Papers of value ?” 

“ Certainly not. I should ha ye seen them. What do you 
mean?” 

“ 1 mean that her mother's jewels, a large sum of money, 
and some papers were stolen from Alan Moncrieif's study on 
the night when Molly left home. Her father took it for 
granted, apparently, that she stole them; and that is the rea- 
son why he has been so obdurate. I am quite sure that she 
never did anything of the kind. ” 

“ Of course not. Moncrieff believed that of his daughter, 
did he? Good heavens! what a fool that man must be!” 

“ Mr. Kingscott seems to have fostered the suspicion?” 

“ Kingscott?” 

“ Bertie blames him for the long misunderstanding. He 
says that Mr. Kingscott has always made as much mischief as 
possible between Alan Moncrielf and his children.” 

Hannington paused a little, with a troubled, downcast look. 

“ I can't understand it,” he said at last. “ Kingscott is a 
scoundrel — I know that; but why should he tiy to throw sus- 
picion on his niece?” 

“ To cover his own dishonesty, perhaps.” 

“ If that is the case, I'll make him rue it. He has done 
me harm enough already. I'll have the truth out of him 
now. " 

“ Don't be too hasty. Jack,” said Lady Val, feeling the need 
for a little caution. “ I only surmise — ” 

4 4 Your surmises are generally very near the truth, Yal. I 
am much obliged to you for letting me know,” said Hanning- 
ton. His languor had entirely disappeared: there was a new 
fire in his eye, a new vigor in the tones of his voice. “ I 
must get to the bottom of this. Even if I had no other rea- 
son, this would be a good reason for my going to Torresmuir 
at once. Whatever I may have been, no man has ever had 
cause to call me dishonest. ” 

Lady Yal was not displeased to see him roused from his 
apathetic indifference, but even she was surprised at the decis- 
ion and the energy which he suddenly manifested. She had 
reached his most vulnerable part: an imputation on his honor 
was evidently a thing which he could not brook. To her 
astonishment, he declared himself ready to start for Scotland 
that night: he would go by the express, he said, and sleep in 
the train. He maintained that he felt perfectly well and 
strong, and that there was no reason why anybody should feel 
anxious respecting him. For the time being, excitement had 
given him back all his accustomed strength. 


254 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


Captain Rutherford almost gasped with astonishment when 
Hannington — pale, jaded, but self-possessed and resolved in 
manner-emerged from the room where he had shut himself 
up for so many days. Charlie looked at Lady Valencia with 
admiration verging on reverence. What a wonderful woman 
she must be, he thought, when she could so completely trans- 
form a man’s course of action and state of mind! Lady Val 
did nearly all the necessary explanation. Hannington scarce- 
ly said a word. 

44 Come, Charlie, we must be off,” she said, briskly. 44 Mr. 
Hannington is going out of town and wants to pack. Can we 
do anything more for you, Mr. Hannington? No? Then — 
good-bye — and good luck to you.” 

She gave him her hand. He pressed it silently, and there 
was a look in his face which caused Charlie Rutherford to turn 
away on some pretense of finding a stick or an umbrella. His 
absorption in this task gave Hannington an opportunity of 
uttering a word or two that otherwise would have been left 
unsaid. 

44 If I have any good fortune, it will all be owing to you,” 
he murmured. 

And Lady Val, with a momentary seriousness and gravity 
which made her face very sweet, answered in a still lower tone : 
44 God be with you, Jack!” she said. “It is the old form of 
4 good-bye/ you know — and it is the best wish I have to give. ” 

They parted, with the same self-contained gravity. Lady 
Val was escorted to her own home by Charlie, whom she dis- 
missed at the door with brave, laughing words; and then she 
went up to her own room to weep her heart out, and to pray 
upon her knees for the reformation of John Hannington’s 
erring, sin-sick soul. 

Hannington got away by the express, as he had intended to 
do, but without a struggle. When the magic of Lady VaRs 
presence had been removed, his spirits fell once more to zero. 
In this depression of mind, it was natural to him to think of 
his usual sustainer and consoler — the stimulants or the opiates 
on which he had almost lived of late. But his new resolution 
was sincere, and by a great effort he mastered the craving 
which seemed at first as if it would utterly subdue him. He 
locked the bottles in a cupboard, and, in a moment of angry 
desperation, threw the key into the fire. It was curious to 
him to observe the feeling of lightness and relief that this 
rather unreasonable action gave him. The throwing away of 
the key was like a casting away of bonds in which he had been 
inthralled. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


255 


The journey northward was somewhat unfortunate. Snow 
had been falling heavily in some parts of the country, and a 
great drift impeded traffic in the neighborhood of Carlisle. 
He was so much hindered that he did not arrive at Dunkeld 
until the afternoon of the next day; and then it seemed to 
him that the best thing was to take a room at the hotel and 
write a note that night to Molly’s father. 

The note was a difficult one to write, but, all things consid- 
ered, he did it very well. There was more sincerity, more 
humility in his letter, than Alan Moncrieff had expected to 
find. It set forth simply and unaffectedly that he knew how 
badly he had behaved to his wife — that he deeply regretted 
his conduct, and begged for an interview with her. He dared 
not write to her himself, he said, knowing that she was still 
weak and ill, and fearing to startle her; but he begged for her 
father’s pardon and her father’s help. 

It was the first time in his life that Hannington had ever 
written such a letter, and without Lady Yal’s influence it 
would never have been written at all. But he was genuinely 
ashamed of himself, and anxious to be at peace with his wife, 
and — as it was hardly possible that his motives should be free 
from alloy — reinstated in the world’s good opinion. He had 
softer thoughts, too, of Molly and of his child; and, growing 
stronger every hour, there was the conviction that his last 
chance had been given to him, and that he must reform his 
life or go to ruin once and for all. 

His last chance! It was an easy thing to say; and yet what 
infinite possibilities of good and evil were contained in those 
three words! In a far deeper sense than he imagined, he was 
indeed having his last chance. 

Late in the evening a note was brought to him. Mr. Mon- 
crieff wrote formally and v coldly, but he fixed an hour at which 
he would call upon Hannington at the hotel. They could 
then talk freely, he said, and could consider the advisability of 
the proposed interview with Molly. The young man drew a 
long breath of relief when he read the words. Yes, he did 
want to see Molly — he was beginning to wonder how she looked 
and what she would say to him — and a flood of shame filled 
his heart at the remembrance of the past. For, as Lady Yal 
had said to Stella, John Hannington had some sort of a heart, 
some sort of a conscience after all; and if they were roused, 
the man might still be saved. 

Mr. Moncrieff would come to him at five o’clock next day. 
He wondered why the hour was so late, never suspecting that 
Kingscott’s influence had again been exerted to fix it as late 


256 


The luck of the house. 


as possible. Ralph Kingscott scented danger in the air, and 
had resolved to make his escape before Alan met John Han- 
nington. But he had a few last arrangements to make, and 
therefore he had taken care to secure some hours before 
Molly's husband could arrive at Torresmuir. 

Hannington grew nervous and uneasy as the day went on, 
and soon after luncheon he determined to go for a long walk 
by way of working off his disquietude. He went past Torres- 
muir, resolving to turn back in good time, so as to be at the 
hotel at five o'clock precisely. A fancy took him to look once 
more at Tomgarrow, where his meetings with Molly used to 
take place. He reached the narrow lane which led to the lit- 
tle hamlet, and walked slowly up the ascending ground. The 
day, which had been mild and cloudy, was already closing in. 
The gathering darkness made him scarcely aware of the ap- 
proach of another wayfarer from an opposite direction until 
the two were almost face to face. And then Hannington 
roused himself from his reverie, and came to a sudden stand- 
still, barring the other man's advance. 

** I've a word to say to you, Ralph Kingscott,” he said, in 
harsh, decided tones. 

Ralph Kingscott also stopped short, and the two men looked 
into each other's eyes. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

JOHN HANHIHGTOH'S FATE. 

“ What have you to say?” said Kingscott. 

There was a scarcely suppressed impatience in his tone. He 
glanced up and down the narrow lane as if he wanted to esti- 
mate his chance of escape from his interlocutor. 

“ I want a good many things,” replied Hannington, dogged- 
ly. “ You have several matters to answer for — ” 

“Hot to you, I think!” said Kingscott, with a sneering 
laugh. “ You have surely enough to do in settling your own 
accounts.” 

“ I'll take care of my own accounts. 1 want the truth of 
this story about Molly. You know as well as I do that she 
never took from her father's house a farthing's worth that did 
not belong to her. 1 hear that you—youof all people! — helped 
to throw suspicion upon her. ” / ■ 

“ There was no need for me to do that. The matter was as 
clear as daylight. Who would take her mother's jewels but 
Molly herself? She had a perfect right to them. And as for 
money — we all know how much you needed it — ” 


THE LUCK OP THE HOUSE. 


257 


“Stop that!” said Hannington, harshly. “You had bet- 
ter not go on. I have heard the whole story from Lady Va- 
lencia Gilderoy — I know the proof on which they relied: the 
finding of the ring which Bertie had seen on your hand a short 
time before. To Alan Moncrieff the proof of Molly's guilt 
may seem positive; to me it is only a token of your own 
guilt.” 

Kingscott laughed, but his face had turned pale. 

“You are romancing,” he said, contemptuously, “and I 
have no time to listen. Let me pass; I shall see you again, 
no doubt. ” 

“ I hope I may never see you again as long as the world 
lasts,” said Hannington, the long-harbored resentment against 
Kingscott suddenly bursting into life. “ This will be the last 
time, I assure you.” 

“ What do you mean?” said Ralph, somewhat uneasily. 

“ Oh, I don't mean any harm to you. I am not going to 
hurt you. I mean only that I'm going to make a clean breast 
to Moncrieff of all the dealings I have ever had with you — in- 
cluding the way in which you used to bully Bertie Moncrieff, 
and the help I got from you when 1 made love to Molly. 1 
don't suppose he has ever heard that you used to plan our 
meetings, or that you arranged the details of that elopement. 
It will be a little surprise for him. ” 

“ Tell what you like,” said Kingscott, coolly. “ It will 
make no difference to me.” 

“ It will probably make this difference: you will be f kicked 
out of Torresmuir.” 

Kingscott laughed lightly and made a step forward. “ I've 
provided against that contingency,” he said. 

Hannington's perceptions were keen. His eye fell upon 
Kingscott's attire — it seemed to him like that of a man ready 
for a journey; he carried a large bag in one hand. “ Oh, I 
see. So you are going to bolt at last,” said Hannington, 
softly. 

Kingscott smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

“ My dear fellow, you are too clever by half,” he answered. 
“Iam going to pay a short visit to London, that is all. Set- 
tle your affairs with Moncrieff as you please; I shall arrange 
mine pleasantly enough. ” 

“ Excuse me,” said Hannington, in a very determined tone. 
“You won't get off quite so soon as you think. I insist on 
your turning back with me now to Dunkeid, and being pres- 
ent at my interview with Molly's father. We must have that 


258 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


matter of the robbery cleared up as soon as possible, as far as 
Molly is concerned. ” 

“ 1 know nothing about the robbery. Appearances were 
against Molly and yourself. I only agree with Moncrieff in 
thinking that you — ” He stopped short. Hannington had 
seized him in a strong, masterful grip and was shaking him as 
a dog shakes a rat. 

“ You lie!” he said. And you know that you lie.” 

Kingscott was apparently much the weaker of the two men. 
He was shorter and slighter than John Hannington; but Han- 
nington was out of training, and had lately led a peculiarly 
exhausting and unhealthy kind of life. On the other hand, 
Ralph was less courageous than his old acquaintance, and was 
inclined to make his way out of a difficult position by cun- 
ning, where Hannington would probably sink to brutality. 
His very lips looked pale, in the waning light, while Hanning- 
ton’s face glowed with the burning red of anger and excite- 
ment. 

“ Let me go, you great fool!” said Kingscott. 

“ You will come with me to Hunkeld, then?” 

4 ‘Not I.” 

“ I'll make you.” 

“ You'll do nothing of the kind. Let go! I tell you, I'll 
come back!” 

“ You'll come with me now and clear my wife's name.” 

“ How long is it since you have been so fond of your wife?” 
said Kingscott, with a sneer. 

It was an ill-advised remark. Hannington' s hand closed 
more tightly than ever upon his collar. The two men closed 
with one another; in the struggle it soon became evident that 
Hannington 's superior height and weight, as well as his frenzy 
of anger, told in his favor. Kingscott defended himself but 
feebly. He seemed to know that it was useless to contend 
for victory. 

“ There you are!” said Hannington at last, as he held his 
opponent down upon the ground and looked at him with grim 
vindictiveness. “ I have you now. What will you do? Will 
you walk quietly back to Dunkeld with me and hear what 
Moncrieff has to say to all that 1 can tell him? or will you 
take the thrashing that you deserve?” 

“ Neither,” said Kingscott, viciously. 

Hannington had slightly loosened his hold. Kingscott 
wrenched his hand free and thrust it into an inner pocket. 
He kept his eyes fixed on his enemy's face; the savage hatred 
in them fascinated Hannington 's attention for one moment. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 259 

and in that moment he was lost, for Kingscott was now a 
desperate man. 

The report of a revolver rang out to startle the silence of 
the lonely hills. To the man who fired that shot it seemed 
as if its echo would never die away. Although the lonely lane 
in which he stood was far removed from the habitations of 
man, he could not but fancy that the sound would rouse the 
avengers of blood and bring them from scores of nooks and 
corners to punish the murderer for his crime. 

For Hannington had fallen to the ground and lay as one 
dead, while, for a moment or two, Ralph Kingscott — crouch- 
ing beside him — watched and waited for any sign of life. But 
none came. 

Kingscott rose to his feet. With a shaking hand he put the 
revolver back in his pocket, picked up his bag, and stood still, 
looking and listening. There was not a sound to be heard, 
save the chirp of a startled bird in the hedge. The gray sky 
seemed suddenly to have grown darker; the wind was rising, 
and rustled among the leafless branches of the gaunt brown 
trees. Kingscott shivered and then laughed. He wanted to 
convince himself that he was not afraid. “ The sooner Fm 
off the better,” he said, eying the body at his feet with 
strange, invincible reluctance. “ Is he dead ? Fll look — no, 
I will not. What does it matter to me whether he is dead or 
alive? My business here is done. At any rate I have paid 
him out for what he has made me suffer. I knew all the time 
that it was he who shot me at Torresmuir.” He turned to 
go, but after taking a few steps, he returned to Hannington's 
side. “ I might as well know ,” he muttered, “ how much 
mischief I have done.” 

He moved the inanimate form, of which the face was hidden 
in the road-side grass, laid it on its back and placed his hand 
carefully on the man's heart. At first he thought that there 
was no movement of the pulse; but a faint throb made mani- 
fest by and by that life had not departed. In spite of his 
callousness, Kingscott felt relieved — not on Hannington's ac- 
count, but on his own. To have committed a murder was a 
different thing from having played fast and loose with his 
brother-in-law's money or throwing aspersions on the char- 
acter of his niece. 

He turned away and strode hastily up the lane. He did 
not want to be seen in the high-road now. He would strike 
across the fields and take a devious - route toward Blairgowrie, 
thence to the nearest seaport town. He meant to make the 


26 0 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


best of his way to Spain. He disappeared into the gathering 
darkness, therefore, and left John Hannington to his fate. 

The injured man became conscious after a time. He lay as 
Kingsoott had left him, with his face turned up to the cloudy 
sky. The air was very cold, and a chill numbness took the 
place of pain. But he did not yet pass into insensibility 
again. His mind gradually acquired an extraordinary clear- 
ness; the whole of his past life seemed to unroll itself be- 
fore him in the vivid light cast by the coming eternity. For 
the first time he judged himself; for the first time he wished 
that he had his life to live over again and vowed to himself 
that if an earthly future were spared to him, he would spend 
it differently. But he had no hope of life. Something in his 
sensations told him that he was doomed. He only longed in- 
tensely that he might not die without being able to say one 
word to Molly, to send a message to Lady Valencia, to ask 
pardon from Alan and his wife. He calculated the chances 
of his being found alive, and rated them very low. It was 
more than probable that he would lapse into unconsciousness, 
and pass gently before morning from unconsciousness to death. 
The bitter cold was more than his strength could bear. 

The process was already beginning when help came. A 
working-man passed up the lane from the high-road to Tom- 
garrow. Hannington had heard the footsteps of several pas- 
sengers along the road, but had known that it was useless to 
try to summon help. He did not greatly care. His brain was 
becoming confused; it seemed to him as though a pleasant 
sleep were overtaking him, when the tramp of heavy footsteps 
roused him from the stupor into which he was fast falling. 
He heard a man's voice, he heard the summons for help; he 
was painfully aware of being touched, handled, examined — and 
then he knew no more. Movement was torture, and a dead 
swoon was the greatest blessing that his best friend could have 
wished him then. 

When he awoke to consciousness, he was dimly surprised to 
find familiar faces were about him. He had been carried to 
Torresmuir, for the man who had discovered him knew that 
he had married Mr. Moncrieff's daughter, and had taken it for 
granted that he would be nursed at his father-in-law's house. 
At another time some embarrassment of feeling might have 
been aroused by this turn of events. At this time, he could 
but feel dumbly, passively grateful for the care and the ten- 
derness lavished upon him, and renew within himself the de- 
termination that if life were spared him he would make of it a 
different thing. 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


261 


But this was not to be. His hours were numbered; he had 
had his 44 last chance ” on earth. Other chances might be 
waiting for him elsewhere, but for this life at least his time of 
probation had expired. All that he could do was to make the 
best of the hours that remained. 

He lay for the most part in a dreamy state, not suffering 
much pain, but growing weaker every hour. It seemed to 
him that he was wrapped in a sort of mist, from which faces 
occasionally emerged with puzzling distinctness. They were 
all kind and friendly faces, but he had not energy to respond 
much to the kindness. How it was Stella's soft eyes that 
rested on him pityingly; he roused himself to ask her to for- 
give him for all that he had done. Then Alan Moncrieff bent 
over him and asked him some questions, and to these he did 
his best to reply. But it was hard to fix his attention, to call 
his mind back from the floating mists in which it was en- 
veloped. 

44 Had Ralph Kingscott anything to do with this?” Alan 
asked. There was a pause, for the feeble answer came: 44 It 
was all my fault.” 

44 All your fault? — you had quarreled?” 

4 4 It was about — Molly; I can't tell you now. She never 
robbed you— -nor did I. I believe that it was Kingscott.” 

4 4 Yes; I believe that it was Kingscott.” 

44 You know that it was not Molly?” 

44 1 know — I am sure of it.” 

44 That's right,” said Hannington, in a tone of weary relief, 
and then his eyes closed and the mist seemed to have ingulfed 
him once again. 

When he opened his eyes they rested on Molly's white, worn 
face. She was sitting beside him. 

44 Molly,” he said, feebly. 44 Is it really Molly ?” 

44 Yes, dear Jack.” 

44 There's something 1 wanted to say. Will vou forgive 
me, Molly?” 

44 1 forgave you ever so long ago. Jack. When baby came 
I forgave you.” 

44 You'll let me see it — the baby — before I go?” 

44 She is here,” said Molly. 

44 1 can't see it. Everything is so dark.” 

She guided his hand to the little head of the child which 
was now given into her arms. Then he asked if he might 
kiss it. 

44 It is a girl, isn't it?” he said. 44 She'll be a comfort to 


262 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


you, Molly. Somebody told me what you were going to call 
her — ” 

“ Valencia,” said Molly, softly. 

“Valencia — yes.” A clearer look came into his eyes; he 
lay silent for some moments as if thinking deeply. “ Molly,” 
he said, at last, very gently, “if I had lived, I meant to be a 
better husband to you. 1 wanted to be a better man. But 1 
haven’t the chance.” 

“ Dear Jack,” she said, the tears falling fast as she spoke, 
* ‘ 1 was not a good wife to you. I meant to be better too. 
Perhaps God will take what we meant to do as if it had been 
done.” 

“ Perhaps,” he murmured, and then lay very still. 

Molly was warned by the nurse that she ought to come away; 
she was not realiy fit to leave her bed, but she had been car- 
ried into Jack’s room, so that she might see him once again. 
But before she went she had one more word to say. 

“ Jack,” she said, “ is there no one whom you waut to see?” 
A sudden light came into his eyes. He looked at her eagerly, 
but did not speak. 

“ I have sent for her,” said Molly. “ I know you loved 
her. Jack; but you love me a little too, do you not?” It was 
a piteous cry. But she was satisfied with his answer. 

“ 1 love her in a different way, Molly. I never injured her. 
It was all so different. Child, forgive me — and say good-bye. 
I love you — you , my wife. ” 

But when they had exchanged the last sad kiss, and he was 
left with his nurses, it was noticed that he began to watch the 
door as he had never watched it for Molly’s coming. Every 
sound seemed to agitate him; the stupor was varied by fits of 
feverish restlessness, in which he murmured a name that was 
not that of his young wife. He had learned, perhaps, to love 
Molly; but 'he loved Valencia, as he had said, in a very differ- 
ent way. 

She was with him at last. Her face came out of the mists 
and smiled bravely upon him. She was always courageous, 
and she had made up her mind that she would not distress him 
by lamentations. He was vaguely glad that she did not cry — 
as Molly did. 

“ Val,” he said, with a faint smile of welcome, “ the end 
has come, you see.” 

“ Not by your own seeking, Jack,” she answered. She had 
knelt down beside the bed and was pillowing his head upon 
her arm. A sort of instinct told her what was best to be done 
for him. 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


263 


4 4 No, not by my own seeking. I was trying to do what you 
told me.” 

She suppressed a cry of agony. “ As it has turned out in 
this way, and you were trying to do right, Jack,” she said, 
44 1 think that we must conclude that— that it was God's 
will.” 

“For me to die?” said Jack, with a smile. “ Well, I told 
you that it was the best way out of our difficulties. I want to 
say something to you, Yal; hold my hand; don't let me go — 
don't let me die — until 1 have said it.” 

“ No, Jack,” she answered, softly but firmly. “ You shall 
not die until you have said all that you want to say!” 

“ You make me feel strong, Val. With you — with you — I 
should have been a better man. We are alone, are we not?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“ Tell me that you love me, Val.” 

“ I have always loved you — all my life. I shall love you till 
I die — and after death, to all eternity.” 

“ And I — you, Val.” 

Then quite easily and naturally he began to speak of Molly. 

“ 1 would have been a better husband, if I had lived, to 
that poor child. She loves me, and I could have loved her 
and the child too. You will be a friend to them, will you 
not, Val? I leave them to you.” 

“Yes, Jack. I will do all I can.” 

“ She will marry again,” said Hannington, quietly. 
“ Rutherford perhaps. I hope she will. You can tell her 
so, if ever the occasion comes, Val. And if she has — other 
children, and this little one should be neglected, or if the child 
was left motherless, then you — Val—” 

“ She should be my child then,” said Valencia, softly. i 

“Yes, that is what I wanted to hear you say. God bless 
you, Valencia. God forgive me /” 

The light was fading from his eyes; his voice was growing 
very weak. She could barely hear his words when he mur- 
mured at last: 

“Kiss me, Val.” 

She bent to kiss him, and received his last breath upon her 
lips. 


CHAPTER XL. 

THE LUCK RETURNS. 

The way in which John Hannington came by his death re- 
mained for some time a mystery. Ralph Kingscott's flight 


264 


THE LUCK OF THE ?HOU.SE. 


was not at first connected with it, except by Alan Moncriefi in 
his own mind; and the questions that he put to Hannington, 
and that others also put, had not been answered by the dying 
man with sufficient clearness to insure certainty. 

Moncriefi became sure in his own mind that Kingscott was 
responsible for Hannington 's death, but he sincerely hoped 
that it was by accident and that his brother-in-law had har- 
bored no murderous design. The suspicions of other people 
were very easily allayed. s It was not known that Ralph had 
met Hannington; no one had seen him leave Torresmuir, and 
he went away from home so often that his absence did not ex- 
cite remark. 

When Alan Moncriefi looked into his own afiairs, much that 
had been puzzling to him was explained. The fraud and 
trickery of which he had been the dupe for years made him 
stand aghast. Ralph had gone on until discovery was immi- 
nent, and had then disappeared; he had taken with him large 
sums of money — enough indeed, to constitute a nice little fort- 
une, on which he could subsist very comfortably in a foreign 
land. Moncriefi, in the first shock of the discovery, was in- 
clined to prosecute, but the publicity of a prosecution would 
have been very painful to the whole family, and it was decided 
that the matter had better sink into oblivion. 

About a month after Hannington's death, however, a letter 
arrived which threw considerable light upon several points. It 
was addressed to Alan Moncriefi, and the postmark was that 
of an obscure town in Spain. It was from Ralph Kingscott 
himself. 

“ Dear Alan,” it began, with an audacity which almost 
took away Moncrieff's breath, “ I have just learned from the 
newsjjapers that poor Hannington is dead. I suppose he has 
told you how the affair took place, and 1 need not make any 
secret of the matter in writing to you, but for my own satis- 
faction I wish to tell you why I shot him as I did. The act 
was not premeditated, but it seemed to me unavoidable. He 
brought it on his own head by his utter obstinacy and 
stupidity. 

‘‘To make you comprehend the matter from beginning to 
end would be too long a task; 1 can not undertake it. But I 
will give you a few renseignements , from which you may con- 
struct the story if you like. Mrs. Moncriefi and your children 
will probably supply details. 

“ 1 must trouble you first with my reasons for staying so 
long at Torresmuir after Marie's death. The place was not 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


265 


interesting to me; your society was not that which 1 preferred 
— you were always too strait-laced for me — and the work 
that you expected me to do was detestable. Add to this that 
1 hate your climate, and you may well wonder why I stayed a 
month with you. My dear Alan, you forget — you had always 
a knack of forgetting — that I was poor. You paid me what 
you considered a handsome salary, no doubt; it was enough 
for my wants if I had meant to live at Torresmuir forever. 
But I had dreams of my own. I wanted a competency. I 
wanted a villa in some warm southern place, where I could be 
all day in the sun, and get the accursed Scotch chill out of my 
blood. I very early resolved that I would make my fortune 
out of you, and would leave you as soon as 1 had done so. It 
took me a longer time than 1 anticipated, and involved me in 
various awkward complications, on which I had not reckoned; 
but my efforts have at last been crowned by complete success. 
If you will not meddle with me, I promise you to lead hence- 
forth a most reputable life. For obvious reasons, I do not give 
my address; I do not live here under my own name, and my 
personal appearance is considerably changed. I am safe 
enough in Spain — but then, 1 do not wish to reside in Spain 
continually. I should therefore very much like your assur- 
ance that you will not endeavor to have me arrested when I 
leave this country. You can manage to throw the police 
completely off the scent if you will. And really — is it worth 
while to put me in prison for the sake of a few pounds which 
I dare say you would have given me if I had chosen to ask for 
them? Judging from your character, my dear Alan, and your 
pride in your family, I can not bring myself to think that you 
would stoop so far! Send me a line to the address that I in- 
close, and I shall know what to do. 

“ And now to business. I resolved, as I said, to make a 
fortune out of you. To this end I sacrificed all that stood in 
the way. Your coldness toward your children gave me a great 
many chances. You were so easily suspicious of them that it 
was no hard task to throw blame on them a thousand times 
when they were perfectly innocent. I began with wishing to 
make a competency; before long I wanted your whole fortune. 
I resolved to make you cast off both your children, and leave 
your property to me by will. When that will was made, 1 
thought that you would probably soon give me possession of 
the estate. Because your affections are pretty strong, al- 
though you hide them with a coating of ice, and when your 
heart and spirit were broken, as I meant them to be, by your 
son's dissipations and your daughter's disgrace, you would not 


266 


THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 


bear your unhappiness very long. You would either have 
gone out of your mind, under the circumstances, Alan Mon- 
crieff, or you would have committed suicide. Knowing you 
as I do, I feel sure of that. 

“ My plans were succeeding admirably, when you — quite 
unconsciously— put an obstacle in the way. You engaged 
Stella Raeburn as a governess for Molly; and, what was more, 
you fell in love with her almost from the beginning. 1 did 
my best to put a spoke into her wheel, speaking familiarly. I 
showed up her ignorance on several occasions with considerable 
skill, I fancy; I insinuated doubts of her capacity and of her 
good will; but with very little effect. It was I, for instance, 
who managed that she and Bertie should be left together upon 
the island. I hoped that the boy would make love to her — 
but he was too inexperienced, and you, by that time, were re- 
solved to think no ill of her. You married her, and I knew 
that my power at Torresmuir would soon come to an end. 

“ I did my best again, however, and partly succeeded. I 
fostered Molly’s love for Hannington, and devised their elope- 
ment. I took the jewels and papers from your bureau, and 
dropped Molly’s ring into one of the drawers — as Bertie can 
testify. That action would effectually bar her return, 1 
thought, to Torresmuir. But your wife once more defeated 
me. She threw discredit on my character: she led Bertie to 
confess his escapades, and Molly — indirectly — to ask your 
pardon; and although 1 told you the story of her previous 
engagement to Hannington and took care that you should see 
her letters to him, I knew that she would conquer in the end. 
The period of coldness between you lasted longer than I ex- 
pected ; but when I saw that you were reconciled, that Bertie 
had got under young Rutherford’s influence, that Molly was 
back at Torresmuir, and that Hannington was expected — why 
then, I felt that the game was lost? If Hannington were to 
come and to find out that he and his wife had been suspected 
of robbery, I knew that he would fly into a rage and tell you 
a good deal more about me than you had ever dreamed of. 
He knew of two or three little transactions which I had 
hitherto carefully kept from your ears; and if these were to 
be revealed, it seemed to me that I would rather be out of the 
way. Bertie’s scrapes, too, were partially known to Hanning- 
ton, and I did not quite like the idea of your hearing that I 
had been responsible for most of them — as he would doubtless 
have informed you. In the matter of the check, it is perhans 
only fair to say — as I wish to do the handsome thing by you 
all in leaving the country — that Bertie was little to blame. 


THE LUCK OE THE HOUSE. 


267 


He had had considerable pressure put upon him, and he was 
so frightened of yourself that he thought anything preferable 
to telling you the truth. 

“ The game being up, then, I prepared for departure. 
What I did not reckon on was coming face to face with Han- 
nington in the lane that leads to Tomgarrow. He was in a 
tremendous rage over the story of the robbery, which Lady 
Valencia Gilderoy had told him, and accused me of plotting 
to throw disgrace on Molly. Then he insisted on my coming 
back with him to Dunkeld, to meet you and to clear Molly’s 
name. I saw immediately that this would not suit my book 
at all. I had studied time-tables to some purpose. If I 
missed a certain boat, I might not be able to get away to 
Spain for two or three days, and 1 was not certain how you 
would take Hannington’s revelations. I knew that I had, 
strictly speaking, brought myself within reach of the law. I 
did not want to wait on Scottish soil, and be confronted with 
the tale of my own misdemeanors — besides running the risk of 
prosecution for embezzlement if you were in a particularly 
savage mood. It was absolutely necessary then for me to get 
away. 

“Hannington was difficult to deal with. He insisted; I 
refused. He attacked me in his usual brutal way — knocked 
me down, and tried to extract from me a promise that I would 
go with him to Dunkeld to meet you. I had a leaded revolver 
in my pocket. The temptation was too great. 1 got my hand 
free, and I fired. 1 meant to wing him only — but at a short 
distance one does more harm sometimes with fire-arms than 
one intends. I can, however, assure you that I meant only to 
disable, not to kill, him. I ascertained that he was alive be- 
fore I went on my way, and I knew that he was sure to be 
found and taken to your house before long. I amused myself 
with picturing the menage that would be formed at Torres- 
muir — with Jack Hannington as a reformed character being 
lectured by madame. It was quite a shock to me to hear that 
the poor fellow was dead. 

“ I have now told you the whole story in outline, and you 
can fill in the details as you please. I have not succeeded in 
my main object, but I have not done very badly for myself 
after all. The only thing that I want now is your assurance 
that I am safe from prosecution for embezzlement, fraud, 
robbery, or whatever you like to call it, and that you will not 
make the contents of this letter public, so as to bring suspicion 
upon me with regard to Hannington’s death. In return for 
this assurance, which, for Marie’s sake, I think that you will 


268 THE LUCK OF THE HOUSE. 

give, I will set your mind at rest on a point which once dis- 
turbed you more than you would allow — the fate of that stone 
which went by the name of c The Luck of the House . 9 

“ It was I who took it away (as, by the bye, Molly, with un- 
usual acumen, always suspected), and for two reasons. First 
1 wanted to have the stone tested, as I had a notion that it 
might prove more valuable than we thought. But in this 1 
was wrong: the stone was intrinsically worthless. Secondly, 
I knew that its disappearance would perplex and, perhaps, 
distress you, for the family superstition had never been eradi- 
cated from vpur mind. In this I was right. 

“I am (flite willing now, however, that you should have 
the stone, if you can find it. In a fit of unreasonable vexation 
at its worthlessness, I flung it out of a window in the tower, 
into the midst of a thickly growing bed of bracken. It may 
be there yet, for aught 1 know. If you can find it, you are 
welcome to it, and to all the luck that it may bring. 

“ I have now told you the whole truth, and I think that you 
can afford to let me pass from your notice and from your 
memory. You are not likely to hear of me again. 

Ci R. K. 99 

Moncrieff read this letter with a feeling of rage and shame 
of which he found it difficult to rid himself.. All Stella’s 
persuasions were needed before he could resolve to send Kings- 
cott the assurance that he would take no steps to make the 
matter public; but he did so at last, under the conviction that 
for Molly’s sake it had better remain unknown. The robber- 
ies he could forgive: but it was hard to pardon the man’s vile 
plotting against the characters of Stella and of Molly, or his 
cold-blooded murder of John Hannington. These he could 
never pardon, but he refrained from vengeance, and was con- 
tent to leave his enemy to the inevitable disappointment and 
remorse which time alone could bring. 

A search was made for the stone, but proved unavailing. 
It must have become imbedded in the earth and overgrown 
with vegetation, and probably, Moncrieff said, rather regret- 
fully, would never be found at all. He declared that he • had 
no superstitious feeling about it in the very least, but Stella 
fancied that she could read a little regret in his honest eyes. 

Molly mourned her husband bitterly, but she was young 
still, and her heart had, after all, not been broken. There 
came a day when Captain Rutherford, after two years of 
patient waiting, found her alone in the garden at Torresmuir, 
and asked her if she could trust him to make her life happy. 


the Luck op the house. 2G9 

and if she could ever consent to be his wife. And Molly did 
not say no. 

In the days that were to come, when a troop of children 
made gladness in Rutherford's house, and Molly was proud of 
their beauty and their noisiness and their mirth, even then 
John Hannington's foreboding was not justified. His child 
was never neglected, never set aside for any of the new-comers. 
Her mother and her step-father had indeed a special tender- 
ness for her; she was their darling, and in due time their 
helper and their comfort. But they never grudged her to 
their old and true friend. Lady Valencia. In her house, little 
Valencia Hannington spent many weeks every year; she was 
Lady Val’s greatest interest in life. Many people said that 
Lady Valencia's great wealth would some day be left to her 
namesake, and that Val Hannington might yet be one of the 
richest women in England, but that day does not seem likely 
to dawn just yet. For Lady Val is as strong and brisk and 
active as she ever was, and the only trace that her great sorrow 
has left upon her is a wistful sadness in her beautiful eyes, and 
an ever-increasing tenderness for the lonely, the sorrowful, the 
weak — and perhaps, we may add, the wicked — of the earth. 

With one more scene from the life at Torresmuir, our story 
will fitly end. 

It is a bright summer morning, and Stella and her husband 
stand on the terrace, discussing their plans for the day, read- 
ing their letters and opening their newspapers, after the 
pleasant fashion that obtains at Torresmuir on sunny morn- 
ings when the post comes in. Presently Stella turns her 
head, and laughs for very happiness. A sturdy little fellow, 
with great brown eyes, comes stumbling and panting up the 
slope of the hill toward the terrace, with something tightly 
clasped in his dimpled hand. Master Alan makes his way 
straight to his mother, throws himself upon her with exuber- 
ant affection, and then displays what his hand contains. It is 
an oddly shaped stone — something like a lump of dull glass — 
and at sight of it Mr. Moncrieff utters an exclamation of 
pleasure and surprise. 

4 4 Where did you find that, my boy?" he asks. 

Alan the younger explains in broken English that he found 
it in the grass, and that he thought it 44 pitty," and wanted to 
bring it to 44 Muzzer." 

44 It is a good omen," said Alan Moncrieff, with a smile. 
44 Stella, this is the stone that was lost. The boy has found it 
at last." 


THE LUCK OF THE H^USE. 

Stella, with her child in her arms, turns to him, smiling 
also. 

“So he has brought back the luck of the house ?” she 
exclaims. 

But Alan suddenly looks grave. “ No, no,” he answers, 
in a softer tone, as he puts his hand upon her shoulder, and 
looks into her eyes. “ That came long ago, when you, my 
star, brought us your sweet presence, and the love that has 
brightened all our lives. Then you brought back to us, 
Stella, 4 The Luck of the House . 9 ” 


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265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness 

627 White Heather 

898 Romeo and Juliet: A Tale of 

Two Young Fools 

962 Sabina Zembra. 1st half 

962 Sabina Zembra. 2d half 

1096 The Strange Adventures of a 

House-Boat 

1132 In Far Lochaber 

1227 The Penance of John Logan. . 

R. D. Blackmore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 
Thomas Upmore, Bart., M. P. 

615 Mary Anerley 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin.. 

629 Cripps, the Carrier 

630 Cradock Nowell. 1st half 

630 Cradock Nowell. 2d half 

631 Christowell. A Dartmoor Tale 

632 Clara Vaughan 

633 The Maid of Sker. 1st half... 

633 The Maid of Sker. 2d half. . . . 

636 Alice Lorraine. 1st half 

636 Alice Lorraine. 2d half 

926 Spi'inghaven. 1st half 

926 Springhaven. 2d half 

Miss M. E. Braddon’s Works. 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret 

56 Phantom Fortune 

74 Aurora Floyd 

110 Under the Red Flag 

153 The Golden Calf 

204 Vixen 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara ; or. Splendid Misery. 20 

263 An Ishmaelite 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1884. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

434 Wy llard’s Weird 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part 1 20 

478 Diavola ; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
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480 Married in Haste. Edited by 
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487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E, Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter... 20 

489 Rupert Godwin 20 


496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

497 The Lady’s Mile 20 

498 Only a Qlod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot 20 

511 A Strange World 20 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant ... 20 

524 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

529 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

542 Fenton’s Quest 20 

544 Cut by the County ; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

548 The Fatal Marriage, and The 

Shadow in the Corner 10 

549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 

er’s Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey 10 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”) 20 

557 To the Bitter End 20 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 


561 Just as I am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

570 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

840 One Thing Needful; or. The 

Penalty of Fate 20 

881 Mohawks. 1st half 20 

881 Mohawks. 2d half 20 

890 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1886. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 


943 Weavers and Weft; or, “ Love 

that Hath Us in His Net ” 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, 

Lucius Davoren. 1st half 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, 
Lucius Davoren. 2d half 20 


1036 Like and Unlike 20 

1098 The Fatal Three 20 

1211 The Day Will Come 20 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeine, 


Author of “Dora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 20 

51 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women — 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love; or, Love’s 

Victory 20 

76 Wife iii Name Only; or, A 

Broken Heart 20 

79 Wedded and Parted... 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 20 

148 Thorns' and Orange-Blossoms. 20 
190 Romance of a Black Veil -10 


220 Which Loved Him Best? 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. (Large 

type edition) 20 

967 Repented at Leisure 10 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter;” 

or. The Cost of Her Love 20 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline 20 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime; or, Viv- 
ien’s Atonement 20 

287 At War With Herself 10 

923 At War With Herself. (Large 

type edition) 20 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 

From Out the Gloom 10 

955 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 
From Out the Gloom. (Large 
type edition) 20 

291 Love’s Warfare 20 

292 A Golden Heart 20 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 

948 The Shadow of a Sin. (Large 

type edition).. 20 

294 The False Vow; or, Hilda; or, 

Lady Hutton’s Ward 10 

928 The False Vow; or, Hilda; or, 
Lady Hutton’s Ward. (Large 

, type edition) 20 

294 Lady Hutton’s Ward; or, Hilda; 

or, The False Vow 10 

928 Lady Hutton’s Ward ; or, Hilda; 
or, The False Vow. (Large 
type editionl 20 

294 Hilda; or. The False Vow; or, 

Lady Hutton’s Ward 10 

928 Hilda; or. The False Vow; or. 
Lady Hutton’s Ward. (Large 
type edition) 20 

295 A Woman’s War 10 

952 A Woman’s War. (Large type 

edition) 20 

296 A Rose in Thorns 20 

297 Hilary’s Folly; or, Her Mar- 

riage Vow 10 

953 Hilary’s Folly; or, Her Mar- 

riage Vow. (Large type edi- 
tion) 20 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day l(i 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 20 

323 A Willful Maid 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 

433 My Sister Kate 10 

459 A Woman’s Temptation. 

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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition, 


951 A Woman’s Temptation 10 

460 Under a Shadow 20 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

466 Between Two Loves 20 

467 A Struggle for a Ring 20 

469 Lady Darner’s Secret; or, A 

Guiding Star 20 

470 Evelyn’s Foily 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins; or, Married 

i i Haste 10 

516 Put Asunder; or. Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

576 Her Martyrdom 20 

626 A Fair Mystery; or, The Perils 

of Beauty 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 
The Romance of a Young Girl 20 
745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 
gle for Love 20 

792 Set in Diamonds 20 

821 The World Between Them 20 

853 A True Maerdalen 20 

854 A Woman’s Error 20 

922 Marjorie 20 

924 ’Twixt Smile and Tear 20 

927 Sweet Cymbeline 20 

929 The Belle of Lynn; or. The 

Miller’s Daughter 20 


949 Claribel’s Love Story; or, Love’s. 

Hidden Depths 20 

958 A Haunted Life ; or, Her Terri- 
ble Sin . 20 

969 The Mystery of Colde Fell; or, 

Not Proven 20 

973 The Squire’s Darling 20 

975 A Dark Marriage Morn 20 

978 Her Second Love 20 

982 The Duke’s Secret i 20 

985 On Her Wedding Morn, and 
The Mystery of the Holly-Tree 20 
988 The Shattered Idol, and Letty 

Leigh 20 

990 The Earl’s Error, and Arnold’s 

Promise 20 

995 An Unnatural Bondage, and 

That Beautiful Lady 20 

1006 His Wife’s Judgment 20 

1008 A Thorn in Her Heart 20 

1010 Golden Gates. 20 

1012 A Nameless Sin 20 

1014 A Mad Love 20 

1031 Irene’s Vow 20 

1052 Signa’s Sweetheart 20 

1091 A Modern Cinderella 10 

1134 Lord Elesmere’s Wife 20 

1155 Lured Away; or, The Story of 
a Wedding - Ring, and The 

Heiress of Arne 20 

1179 Beauty’s Marriage 10 

1185 A Fiery Ordeal 20 

1195 Dumaresq’s Temptation 20 

Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 

15 Jane Eyre 20 

57 Shirley 20 

944 The Professor .. . 20 


Khoda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 1 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

758 “ Good-bye, Sweetheart!” 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20 

767 Joan 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower 20 

862 Betty’s Visions 10 

894 Doctor Cupid. 20 

Mary E. Bryan’s Works. 

731 The Bayou Bride 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the 

Red House. 1st half 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the 
Red House. 2d half 20 

Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “Storm-Beaten:” God and The 

Man 20 

154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

398 Matt : A Tale of a Caravan ... 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 20 

892 That Winter Night; or, Love’s 

Victory 10 

1074 Stormy Waters 20 

1104 The Heir of Linne 20 

Captain Fred Burnaby’s Works. 

375 A Ride to Khiva 20 

384 On Horseback Through Asia 
Minor 20 

E. Fairfax Byrrne’s Works. 

521 Entangled 20 

988 A Fair Country Maid. 20 

Hall Caine’s Works. 

445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron’s Works. 

595 A North Country Maid 20 

796 In a Grass Country 20 

891 VeraNevill; or, Poor Wisdom’s 

Chance 20 

912 Pure Gold .. 20 

963 Worth Winning 20 

1025 Daisy’s Dilemma 20 

1028 A Devout Lover; or, A Wasted 

Love 20 

1070 A Life’s Mistake 20 

1204 The Lodge by the Sea 20 

1205 A Lost Wife 20 

Rosa Nouchette Carey’s Works. 

215 Not Like Other Girls 2d 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. 1st 

half 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. 2d 

half 20 

608 For Lilias. 1st half 20 

608 For Lilias. 2d half 20 

930 Uncle Max. 1st half 20 


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930 Uncle Max. 2d half 20 

932 Queenie’s Whim. 1st half 20 

932 Queenie’s Whim. 2d half 20 

934 Wooed and Married. 1st half . 20 
934 Wooed and Married. 2d half. 20 
936 Nellie's Memories. 1st half. . . 20 
936 Nellie’s Memories. 2d half... 20 

961 Wee Wifie 20 

1033 Esther: A Story for Girls 20 

1064 Only the Governess 20 

1135 Aunt Diana 20 

1194 The Search for Basil Lyndhurst 30 
1208 Merle’s Crusade 20 

.Lewis Carroll’s Works. 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. Illustrated by John 

Tenniel 20 

789 Through the Looking-Glass, 
and What Alice Found There. 
Illustrated by John Tenniel.. 20 


Wilkie Collins’s Works. 

52 The New Magdalen 10 

102 The Moonstone 20 

167 Heart and Science. . 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and 

Other Stories 10 

233 “ I Say No or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered 20 

508 The Girl at the Gate 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

623 My Lady’s Money 10 

701 The Woman in White. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. 1st half 20 

702 Man and Wife. 2d half 20 

764 The Evil Genius 20 

896 The Guilty River. 20 

946 The Dead Secret 20 

977 The Haunted Hotel 20 

1029 Armadale. 1st half. 20 

1029 Armadale. 2d half 20 

1095 The Legacy of Cain 20 

1119 No Name. 1st half 20 

1119 No Name. 2d half 20 


Mabel Collins’s Works. 

749 Lord Vanecourt’s Daughter. . . 20 
828 ThePrettiestWomaninWarsaw 20 

Hugh Conway’s Works* 


240 Called Back 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales 10 

301 Dark Days 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

Stories 10 

711 A Cardinal Sin .~r 20 

804 Living or Dead 20 

830 Bound by a Spell 20 


JT. Fenimoi’e Cooper’s Works. 


60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or. The Sources 

of the Susquehanna 20 

349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch 20 

361 The Red Rover 20 

373 Wing and Wing 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or. The 

Chase 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte; or, The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

385 The Headsman; or, The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons 20 

394 The Bravo 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln; or, The Leag- 
uer of Boston 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish.. 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“ Afloat and Ashore ”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack Tier ; or, The Florida Reef 20 

419 The Chain bearer ; or, The Lit- 

tle-page Manuscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe ; or, The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins ; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or, The 

Voyage to Cathay 20 

425 The Oak-Openings; or, The 

Bee-Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins . .. 20 

1062 The Deerslayer; or. The First 

War-Path. 1st half 20 

1062 The Deerslayer; or. The First 

War-Path. 2d half 20 

1170 The Pilot 20 

Marie Corelli’s Works. 

1068 Vendetta ! or. The Story of One 

Forgotten 20 

1131 Thelma. 1st half 20 

1131 Thelma. 2d half 20 


Georgiana M. Craik’s Works. 


450 Godfrey Helstone 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer 20 

B. M. Croker’s Works, 

207 Pretty Miss Neville .... 20 

260 Proper Pride 10 

412 Some One Else 20 

1124 Diana Barrington 20 

May Croinmelin’s Works. 

452 In the West Countrie . 20 

619 Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 

Home Ford 20 

64? Goblin Gold 10 


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Alphonse Daudet’s Works. 

534 Jaclr 

574 The Nabob : A Story of Parisian 
Life and Manners . 

Charles Dickens’s Works. 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. I 

22 David Copperfield. Vol. II... 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. I 

24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. II 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. 1st half.. 
37 Nicholas Nickleby. 2d half . . . 

41 Oliver Twist 

77 A Tale of Two Cities 

84 Hard Times 

91 Barnaby Rudge. 1st half. ... 

91 Barnabv Rudge. 2d half 

94 Little Dorrit. 1st half 

94 Little Dorrit. 2d half 

106 Bleak House. 1st half 

106 Bleak House. 2d half 

107 Dombey and Son. 1st half . .. 

107 Dombey and Son. 2d half 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and 

Doctor Marigold 

131 Our Mutual Friend. 1st half. 

131 Our Mutual Friend. 2d half. . 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler.. 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 

169 The Haunted Man 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 

Chuzzlewit. 1st half 

437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. 2d half 

439 Great Expectations 

440 Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings 

447 American Notes 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 

Mudfog Papers. &c 

454 The Mystery of Edwin Drood. 
456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People 

676 A Child’s History of England. 

Sarah Doudney’s Works. 

338 The Family Difficulty 

679 Where Two Ways Meet 

F, Du Bolsgobey’s Works. 

82 Sealed Lips 

104 The Coral Pin. 1st half 

104 The Coral Pin. 2d half 

264 Pi6douche, a French Detective 
328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

First half 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. 

Second half 

453 The Lottery Ticket 

475 The Prima Donna's Husband. 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or, The 

Steel Gauntlets 

523 The Consequences of a Duel. A 

Parisian Romance 

648 The Angel of the Bells 

697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st half . . . 


697 The Pretty Jailer. 2d half — 20 
699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 1st 

half 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. 2d 

half 20 

782 The Closed Door. 1st half 20 

782 The Closed Door. 2d half.... 20 
851 The Cry of Blood. 1st half... 20 
851 The Cry of Blood. 2d half 20 


918 The Red Band. 1st half 20 

918 The Red Band. 2d half 20 

942 Cash on Delivery 20 

1076 The Mystery of an Omnibus.. 20 

1080 Bertha’s Secret. 1st half 20 

1080 Bertha’s Secret. 2d half 20 

1082 The Severed Hand. 1st half.. 20 
1082 The Severed Hand. 2d half.. 20 
1085 The Matapan Affair. 1st half 20 
1085 The Matapan Affair. 2d half 20 
1088 The Old Age of Monsieur Le- 

coq. 1st half 20 

1088 The Old Age of Monsieur Le- 
coq. 2d half 20 

“Tlie Duchess’s” Wonts. 

2 Molly Bawn 20 

6 Portia 20 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian 20 

16 Phyllis 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. (Large type 

edition) f 20 

950 Mrs. Geoffrey 10 

29 Beauty’s Daughters 10 

30 Faith and Unfaith 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and 

Eric Dering 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d.. 10 

123 Sweet is True Love 10 

1&9 Rossmoyne 10 

134 The Witching Hour, and Other 

Stories 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 

Other Stories 10 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. .. 10 
171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories 10 

284 Doris 20 

312 A Week’s Amusement; or, A 

Week in Killarney 10 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve 10 

390 Mildred Trevauion 10 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 

Stories 10 

486 Dick’s Sweetheart 20 

494 A Maiden All Forlorn, and Bar- 
bara 10 

517 A Passive Crime, and Other 

Stories 10 

541 “ As It Fell Upon a Day.” 10 

733 Lady Branksmere 20 

771 A Mental Struggle 20 

785 The Haunted Chamber 10 

862 Ugly Barrington 10 

875 Lady Valworth’s Diamonds. . . 20 
1009 In an Evil' Hour, and Other 

Stories 20 

1016 A Modern Circe 20 

1035 The Duchess 20 


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20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

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20 

20 

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20 

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1047 Marvel 20 

1108 The Honorable Mrs. Vereker.. 20 
1123 Under-Currents 20 

1197 “ Jerry.” — “That Night in 

June.”— A Wrong Turning.— 

Irish Love and Marriage 10 

1209 A Troublesome Girl 20 

Alexander Dumas’s Works* 

55 The Three Guardsmen 20 

75 Twenty Years After 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. A 
Sequel to “The Count of 

Monte-Cristo ” 10 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part 1 30 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II 30 

717 Beau Tancrede : or, The Mar- 
riage Verdict 20 

1058 Masaniello; or, The Fisherman 

of Naples : 20 

George Ebers’s Works. 

474 Serapis. An Historical Novel 20 

983 Uarda 20 

1056 The Bride of the Nile. 1st half 20 
1056 The Bride of the Nile. 2d half 20 

1094 Homo Sum 20 

1097 The Burgomaster’s Wife 20 

1101 An Egyptian Princess. Vol. I. 20 
1101 An Egyptian Princess. Vol. II. 20 

1106 The Emperor 20 

1112 Only a Word 20 

1114 The Sisters 20 

1198 Gred of Nuremberg. A Ro- 

mance of the Fifteenth Cent- 
ury 20 

Marla Edgeworth’s Works. 

708 Ormond 20 

788 The Absentee. An Irish Story. 20 

Mrs. Annie Edwards’s Works. 

644 A Girton Girl 20 

834 A Ballroom Repentance 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty 20 

836 A Point of Honor 20 

837 A Vagabond Heroine .• 10 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? 20 

839 Leah: A Woman of Fashion.. 20 

841 Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 10 

842 A Blue-Stocking 10 

843 Archie Lovell 20 

844 Susan Fielding 20 

845 Philip Earnscliffe ; or, The 

Morals of May Fair 20 

846 Steven Lawrence. 1st half... 20 

846 Steven Lawrence. 2d half 20 

850 A Play wright's Daughter 10 

George Eliot’s Works. 

3 The Mill on the Floss 20 

31 Middlemarch. 1st half 20 

81 Middlemarch. 2d half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 20 

34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half 20 

86 Adam Bede. 1st half 20 

36 Adam Bede. 2d half 20 

42 Rornola SO 


693 Felix Holt, the Radical 20 

707 Silas Marner: The Weaver of 
Raveloe 10 

728 Janet’s Repentance 10 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such 10 

B. L. Farjeon’s Works. 

179 Little Make-Believe 10 

573 Love’s Harvest 20 

607 Self-Doomed 10 

616 The Sacred Nugget . 20 

657 Christmas Angel 10 

907 The Bright Star of Life 20 

909 The Nine of Hearts 20 

G. Manviile Fenn’s Works, 

193 The Rosery Folk 10 

558 Poverty Corner 20 

587 The Parson o’ Dumford 20 

609 The Dark House 10 

1169 Commodore Junk 20 

Octave Feuillet’s Works. 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young 

Man 10 

386 Led Astray; or, “ La Petite 
Comtesse” 10 

Mrs. Forrester’s Works. 

80 June 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety 10 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 

Other Tales 10 

715 I Have Lived and Loved 20 

721 Dolores 20 

724 My Lord and My Lady 20 

726 My Hero 20 

727 Fair Women 20 

729 Mignon 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades 20 

734 Viva 20 

736 Roy and Viola 20 

740 Rhona 20 

744 Diana Carew; or, For a Wom- 
an’s Sake 20 

883 Once Again 20 

Jessie Fotkergill’s Works. 

314 Peril 20 

572 Healey 20 

935 Borderland 20 

1099 The Lasses of Leverhouse. ... 20 

R. E. Franeillou’s Works. 

135 A Great Heiress: A Fortune 

in Seven Checks 10 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables 10 

360 Ropes of Sand 20 

656 The Golden Flood. By R. E. 

Francillon and Wm. Senior. . 10 
911 Golden Bells 20 

Emile Gaboriau’s Works. 

7 File No. 113 20 

12 Other People’s Money 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. . . 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol, II 20 


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33 The Clique of Gold 20 

38 The Widow Lerouge 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival 20 

144 Promises of Marriage 10 

979 The Count’s Secret. Parti... 20 
979 The Count’s Secret. Part II.. 20 

1002 Marriage at a Venture 20 

1015 A Thousand Francs Reward.. 20 

1045 The 13th Hussars 20 

1078 The Slaves of Paris.— Black- 
mail. 1st half 20 

1078 The Slaves of Paris. — The 
Champdoce Secret. 2d half. . 20 
1083 The Little Old Man of the Bat- 

ignolles 10 

1167 Captain Contanceau 20 

Charles Gibbon’s Works. 

64 A Maiden Fair 10 

317 By Mead and Stream 20 

James Grant’s Works. 

566 The Royal Highlanders; or, 
The Black Watch in Egypt... 20 
781 The Secret Dispatch 10 


Miss Grant’s Works. 

222 The Sun-Maid 20 

555 Cara Roma 7 20 

Maxwell Gray’s Works. 

1034 The Silence of Dean Maitland. 20 
1182 The Reproach of Annesley 20 

Arthur Griffiths’s Works. 

614 No. 99 10 

680 Fast and Loose 20 

H. Rider Haggard’s Works. 

432 The Witch’s Head . 20 

753 King Solomon’s Mines 20 

910 She: A History of Adventure. 20 

941 Jess 20 

959 Dawn 20 

989 Allan Quatermain 20 

1049 A Tale of Three Lions, and On 

Going Back 20 

1100 Mr. Meeson’s Will 20 

1105 Maiwa’s Revenge 20 

1140 Colonel Quaritch, V. C 20 

1145 My Fellow Laborer 20 

1190 Cleopatra: Being an Account 
of the Fall and Vengeance of 
Harmacliis, the Royal Egyp- . 
tian, as Set Forth by his own 
Hand 20 

Thomas Hardy’s Works. 


139 The Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid 10 

530 A Pair of Blue Eyes 20 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd 20 
791 The Mayor of Casterbridge. . . 20 

945 The Trumpet-Major 20 

957 The Woodlanders 20 

John B. Harwood’s Works. 

143 One False, Both Fair 20 

358 Within the Clasp 20 


Mary Cecil Hay’s Works. 

65 Back to the Old Home 10 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money 20 

196 Hidden Perils 20 

197 For Her Dear Sake 20 

224 The Arundel Motto 20 

281 The Squire’s Legacy 20 

290 Nora's Love Test 20 

408 Lester’s Secret 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished 20 

849 A Wicked Girl 20 

987 Brenda Yorke 20 

1026 A Dark Inheritance 20 

W. Heim burg’s Works. 

994 A Penniless Orphan 20 

1175 A Tale of an Old Castle 20 

1188 My Heart's Darling.... 20 

1216 The Story of a Clergyman’s 

Daughter 20 

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313 The Lover's Creed 20 

802 A Stern Chase 20 

Tighe Hopkins’s Works. 

509 Nell Haffenden 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty 20 

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120 Tom Brown’s School Days at 

Rugby 20 

1139 Tom Brown at Oxford. Vol. I. 20 
1139 Tom Brown at Oxford. Vol. II. 20 

Fergus W. Hume’s Works. 
1075 The Mystery of a Hansom Cab. 20 

1127 Madam Midas 20 

1232 The Piccadilly Puzzle 20 

Works by the Author of “Judith 
Wynne.” 

332 Judith Wynne 20 

506 Lady Lovelace 20 

William H. G. Kingston’s Works. 

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642 Britta 10 

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464 The Newcomes. Part II 20 

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818 Pluck 10 

876 Mignon’s Secret 10 

966 A Siege Baby and Childhood’s 

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971 Garrison Gossip: Gathered in 

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1032 Mignon’s Husband 20 

1039 Driver Dallas 10 

1079 Beautiful Jim: of the Blank- 

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1121 Booties’ Children 10 

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1202 Harvest 20 

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255 The Mystery 20 

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508 The Unholy Wish 10 

513 Helen Whitney’s Wedding, and 

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514 The Mystery of Jessy Page, 

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610 The Story of Dorothy Grape, 

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1001 Lady Adelaide’s Oath; or, The 

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61 Charlotte Temple. Mrs. Row- 

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156 “For a Dream’s Sake.” Mrs. 

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161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded 

on the Play of that title by 

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163 Winifred Power. Joyce Darrell 20 
170 Great 'treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus. 1st half 20 

170 Great Treason. A. By Mary 

Hoppus. 2d half ”. 20 

174 Under a Ban. Mrs. Lodge 20 

176 An April Day. Philippa Prit- 


tie Jephson 10 

More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 

Queen Victoria 10 

The Millionaire 20 

Dita. Lady Margaret Majendie 10 
The Midnight Sun. Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

A Husband’s Story 10 


Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James.. 20 
Lady Clare : or, The Master of 
the Forges. Georges Ohnet 10 
The Two Orphans. D’Ennery. 10 
The Amazon. Carl Vosmaer. . 10 
The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. 

Kingsley 10 

Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 
Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

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John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
True Light. A “ Brutal Sax- 
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Two Years Before the Mast. R. 

H. Dana, Jr 20 

The Polish Jew. (Translated 
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A. Merighi.) Erckmann-Chat- 

rian 10 

May Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. Margaret Lee 20 

A Marriage of Convenience. 

Harriett Jay 10 

The White Witch 20 

Under Which King? Compton 

Reade 20 

Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 
Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

Laura Jean Libbey 20 

As Avon Flows. Henry Scott 
Vince 20 

At Any Cost. Edward Garrett. 10 
The Lottery of Life. A Story 
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Ago. John Brougham 20 

The Princess Dagomar of Po- 
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A Good Hater. Frederick Boyle 20 
George Christy ; or, The Fort- 


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Pastor 20 

The Mysterious Hunter; or, 
The Man of Death. Capt. L. 

C. Carleton 20 

The Dead Man’s Secret. Dr. 

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The Red Cardinal. Frances 
Elliot 10 

Three Sisters. Elsa D’Esterre- 

Keeling 10 

Introduced to Society. Hamil- 
ton Aid 6 10 

The Secret of the Cliffs. Char- 
lotte French 20 

An English Squire. C. R. Cole- 
ridge 20 

TylneyHall. Thomas Hood. .. 20 


178 

182 

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187 

198 

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285 

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311 

329 

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1211 The Day Will Come. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20, 

1212 The History of a Slave. By H. 

H. Johnston, F. R. G. S., F. 

Z. S., etc 20 

1213 Jenny Harlowe. By W. Clark 

Russell 10 

1214 Wild Darrie. By David Chris- 

tie Murray and H. Herman ... 20 

1215 Adrian Lyle. By “Rita” 20 

1216 The Story of a Clergyman’s 

Daughter; or. Reminiscences 
from the Life of my old 
Friend. By W. Heimburg 20 

1217 Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill. 

An Australian Novel. By 
Tasma 20 

1218 Masterman Ready; or, The 

Wreck of the “ Pacific.” By 
Captain Marry at 20 

1219 That Other Woman. By Annie 

Thomas 20 

1220 Mistress Beatrice Cope; or, 

Passages in the Life of a 
Jacobite’s Daughter. By M. 

E. LeClerc ' 20 


ISSUES: 


1221 “The Tents of Shem.” By 

Grant Allen 20 

1222 Jacques Bonhomme. — John 

Bull on the Continent.— From 
my Letter-Box. ByMaxO’Rell 20 

1223 A Little Fool. By John Strange 

Winter 10 

1224 The Curse of Carne’s Hold. A 

Tale of Adventure. By G. A. 
Henty 20 

1227 The Penance of John Logan, 

and A Snow Idyl. By William 
Black 20 

1228 The Master of Ballantrae. A 

Winter’s Tale. By. Robert 
Louis Stevenson 20 

1229 “ Sheba.” A Study of Girlhood. 

By “Rita.” 20 

1230 The Phantom Ship. By Cap- 

tain Marryat 20 

1231 A Life Sentence. By Adeline 

Sergeant 20 

1232 The Piccadilly Puzzle. By Fer- 

gus W. Hume 20 

1233 Roland Oliver. By Justin H. 

McCarthy, M.P 20 

1234 The Deemster. By Hall Caine 20 

1235 The Lost Bank Note, and Moat- 

Grange. By Mrs. Henry Wood 20 

1236 Her Father’s Daughter. By 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 20 

1237 A Vagabond Lover. By “Rita” 20 


1238 The Mysterious Island. Illus- 
trated. Part I. Dropped from 
the Clouds. By Jules Verne. 20 
1238 The Mysterious Island. Illus- 


trated. Part II. The Aban- 
doned. By Jules Verne 20 

1238 The Mysterious Island. Illus- 

trated. Part III. The Secret 
of the Island. By Jules Verne. 20 

1239 The Virgin Widow. A Realis- 

tic Novel. By A. Matthey.. 20 

1240 The Bell of St. Paul’s. By Wal- 

ter Besant 20 

1241 The Luck of the House. By 

Adeline Sergeant 20 


A handsome catalogue containing complete and classified lists of all George 
Munro’s publications will be mailed to any address on receipt of 10 cents. 

The foregoing works, contained in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers. Par- 
ties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. Address 


GEORGE MUNIIO, Muuvo’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 

The Luck of the House 























9 




































